Staying close beside him, Neviah let the priest lead her with the twining of their fingers.  The pad of her thumb brushed along his hand, the touch so slight it barely registered as they walked and her mind raced.  She had given Jimena too much credit, her impulses were growing stronger, evidence of her wearing patience, and the grip of the youngest weaver's hand within the priest's tightened.  How was she ever going to protect him from her sister's reach?  How was she ever going to teach him to protect himself?  Approaching the church, Neviah drew in a long steadying breath as Micheal ushered them up the stairs to swing open the large doors that entered into the chapel.  The gentle melody that greeted them was something from heaven itself and as Micheal's hand released hers, Neviah found herself frozen in captivity by the blanket of warmth that then consumed her.<br/><br/>This moment of holy grace was short lived however as the grief that spilled from Micheal's tongue wrenched her heart, but the harsh accusation he spat at her in conclusion, for a moment, hardened it, and Neviah found herself clinching her teeth at the bite.  He blamed her.  And shouldn't he have?  It was thanks to her that Father Matthew had been put into a position to save his life, but Neviah hadn't made the decision for him.  She couldn't have, and Micheal was certain she had all but bludgeoned him herself, as though she was some sort of angel of death.  She wasn't, or at least that's not all she was, and the thought that that was Micheal opinion registered as something of an insult.  But she breathed, and the sting passed.  Micheal had no idea how delicate the balance was, how tedious the work of the tapestry was.  To him, she was an angel of death, a murderer, and she wondered if the man before her was truly ready for the undertaking she was planning to bestow upon him.<br/><br/>Despite his lashings, Neviah was soon kneeling just beside him, a feathery palm resting at his back while the other moved to trace a finger along his jaw and usher his gaze to meet hers.  Here she held him for a time, saying nothing while her engulfing stare lingered between his stormy gaze.  "Well, then here's another truth you're not going to like," she said sorrowfully, "because it has nothing to do with faith."  She answered his final question, realizing how blunt it was as it left her lips.  The truth was hard pill to swallow, especially considering the depth of this particular one, and it was a brute certainty for Neviah to claim while the priest knelt, fragile and defeated before his savior.  It may have been harsh, but just like his words, they were true.<br/><br/>Her hand shifted to cup his face as her thumb slid over the moisture of desperation that clung to his cheek, and she shook her head.  "Micheal, the truth is, no matter what you do, people are going to die.  You can't change that...no one can," Neviah said, keeping her tone gentle though painful honesty burned in her eyes.  "Neither you, nor I have the power to stop the forces that are coming, it's not a battle that can be won, and it has nothing to do with the Holy Father or the Devil.  This is beyond even their reach," she went on to tell him, "But it can be survived."  The tender hold of her hand against his cheek stiffened, moving his face in her palm slightly in an effort to drive in her point.  It may have sounded like Neviah was speaking in riddles, but she would not let him mistake the urgency of her message.<br/><br/>"Micheal, you are alive, use the gift of it, and be grateful. Live with purpose, because purpose changes fate," she was pleading with him now, it glinted her eyes and furrowed her brows.  "Please embrace the fate you have been given, do not hide from it behind guilt.  Guilt will serve no one where you're headed," she spoke omniously, haunting suggestion shading her already darkened gaze as she knew the battle ahead.  A war of fire fought on shaking ground was rapidly approaching and he needed to be ready.  "Father Matthews died for what he believed in, and that was you, not some vision of a woman he had never met," she evoked the priest's name, a swell of pointed argument changing the way Neviah addressed Micheal then.  "Do not let his sacrifice be in vain."<br/><br/>"You're being here offers hope, but not like this.  You can help no one on your knees, Micheal.  Stand up.  Serve your God.  Serve your fathers, and serve your people.  They will need you, and you have to be strong in order to answer the call."  Her time was wearing thin, and Neviah could sense it, but as she stood she offered Micheal a delicate hand that insisted he rise to his feet.  "Whatever your feelings are towards me, don't let them blind you to the greater truth."  She felt a burning stare at her back, directed towards the large crucifix heading the church, and her eyes closed gently in humble acknowledgement not meant for the man before her.