Arngeirr straightens to his full huge height, taking in a huge breath and letting it out in a huge, explosive sigh.<br/><br/>"Thank the gods," he mutters.  He covers his face with his huge hands and turns away from the assembled monks.  The little one is in good hands now, he believes, so long as damned Vernasus does not tarry in the hospice long.  As for the hugeman, he has other matters to attend to; the slight woman Alyssa had been guarding his father's relic since he had swiftly departed the kitchen and dining hall to carry young Mary to the hospice.  The monks all seemed to know her; he trusted them - most of them, at least - and had silently allowed the woman to protect his father's shame.  The giant lumbers from the hospice, not saying another word to the monks, his limbs devoid of energy in the wake of the chaos that had erupted, and begins to journey back to Alyssa and the box he had left behind.