The door is unlocked. A little reckless, perhaps, but for once there isn't enough room in Dain's mind to entertain caution. Locking the door would imply there is something -- someone -- in the village Vervain needs to be afraid of.

"It's me," he announces himself as he opens the door. "I'm here."

The scene is better than he feared, and worse than he hoped. Dain cannot imagine what the young priest must be going through; he can still hardly believe it's possible for someone not to know. Bias on his part, perhaps, because that's what the church teaches. All Profane choose to sin. All Profane choose to indulge in the Vice. All Profane are weaker of will than those who choose to lead virtuous lives. How often can someone hear such lies before starting to believe some of them?

He closes the door behind him, and stands protectively in front of it. "I told Father Normand you've taken ill," he says. "Fortunately, it doesn't sound like there's anything which can't wait until tomorrow."