Old Peter's brow was still furrowed, but a new resilience had appeared in his eyes. He walked over and helped a frail woman lift a corner of her pushcart.
The others also sprang into action—clearing the road, checking for torn grain sacks, helping the injured... It was as if they were trying to banish the fear and helplessness from moments before through tangible labor.
Deacon Byron watched everyone's spirits lift and exchanged a look with Old Hans.
Old Hans's wrinkled face was expressionless, but he gave an almost imperceptible nod before hunching over to gather a few bundles of hay scattered by the ridges of the fields.
The shared glance put Deacon Byron's heart at ease, and a firmer resolve seemed to rise from within him.
He turned to face the modest, white-walled chapel and slowly made the sign of the Holy Emblem—a crescent moon embracing a star—over his chest.
