Arnie found himself lying prone on the ground. He was looking towards the great blue sky. Emerald walls of corn stalks surrounded his vision as he looked on listlessly. His body felt very sore like his muscles were pulped in a fight. He didn't feel like moving. He could hear similarly pulped individuals groaning nearby.

His skygazing was interrupted when a large bird came into view. It stood on his pained chest and looked into his lethargic eyes with shining yellow eyes. It was one of Hiernos's crows. It cawed to its unseen fellows, confirming the living state of the body it was examining.

Beckoned by the bird's caw, a guard came over and checked him out. After some inspection, the guard turned to their comrades and called, "This one's fine too."

There were guards that were inspecting the bodies that were lying dead tired and bruised on the ground. They wore the usual white mail issued by the temple. The guards amongst them were a mix of two kinds: ones whose armor bore a blue trim and those whose armor bore an orange trim. They were guards who served different deities. Those with blue trim served under Hiernos and those with orange trim served under Eorphin.

A guard chuffed at that guard's call. "These people don't look fine to me. They looked like they've been tenderized by a bear," they commented.

"At least we didn't find them in pieces. We didn't have to go on a scavenger hunt to complete their corpses," another guard replied.

They gingerly lifted the bodies of the fallen heroes. They gently placed their bodies on a cart and began pulling them away from the scene. The cart slowly moved through the narrow paths that criss-crossed the field. It occasionally rocked as it passed over some uneven bumpy ground. The ride carried its passengers to a large tent that had been sent up by the dirt road that passed by the corn field.

It was a large tent made of white canvas. It stood over ten feet tall and twenty feet wide and stretched almost thirty feet long. The symbol of the temple had been painted prominently on its canvas. Inside were numerous beds upon which lay injured folk. Both heroes and civilians alike were placed upon these soft beds as healers in robes with orange trim tended upon their injured bodies. The healers busied themselves with applying salves and bandages upon the wounds of the victims. Some applied light magic upon their patients to hasten their recovery.

The civilians, the visiting neighbors, were much more well off than the heroes. Unlike the heroes who engaged the monster that had become Renard, they were left relatively unscathed by the battle that occurred. The injuries they acquired were indirect effects of the skirmish; they sported burns and cuts from their wooden surroundings being consumed by chaos. They simply sat upon their beds, fully well and talking with each other. They were exchanging accounts of the battle they had witnessed. There were guards that were gathering their words.

The heroes on the other hand were lying upon their beds, weak and listless. Each of them moved very little since they were brought into the tent. Their bodies were bruised to the bone, and their muscles ached every time they tried to even shift a little. Thanks to their heroic constitution, they hadn't broken their bones, but that was little consolation to the ordeal they went through.

Except for Jeema, who instead of being catatonic upon the mattress of her bed was sitting upon its edge engaging with the friendly guards. They coaxed answers from her mouth, but even a first-hand account from her had left them confused. She was melancholic from the events that transpired. Her eyes were weighted by the things they had witnessed and often drooped to look into the ground.

The bustle of the tent was cut through when Eorphin marched through. A face of fury was carved onto her white lupine face as she strode straight towards Jeema. She came to face her, looking down upon the down hero. She glared with an intense fury that bore into her being. The metaphorical borehole was filled with fire as Eorphin poured the fury she felt when she heard what they'd done to the Greymight household.

"Do you know how grave the actions you've done, Jeema?" Eorphin asked her.

"He was a werewolf! He tried to kill us," Jeema retorted. Those who overheard were a bit shocked at the boldness she bore to speak back to the goddess.

"That's beyond the point! You killed his son. You killed Henry today," she rebuked. She pressed her nose into her, like how one pokes another with their finger.

"Henry is dead. He's been dead long before today," Jeema countered.

Eorphin snarled at her. "He was alive before today!" She roared. She was displeased at her attitude. "You're coming with me, and you're going to apologize."

"Wha-"

Before she could retaliate, Eorphin held her by the collar. Jeema dangled from her mouth as she was carried out of the tent. There were healers that tried to stop her, but she only bulled through them. She told them that this was more important than trying to heal her. She carried her over the road, heading east, towards the burnt-down house. That was where they last saw Renard.

Eorphin felt anxious within. Her relationship with Renard was strained as it is, and she didn't want it to completely snap with today's event. Every step she took on her way was taken with the absolute surety of her decision.

Eventually, they came upon the remains of his humble home. A pile of ash and charcoal was in place of the wooden house that once stood there. Upon the burnt remains of the house was a man, frantically digging among the ruins for relics. The things he had rescued and saved were placed in a pile outside the perimeter of his once-standing home. Various knick-knacks were collected, from still useful tools to shiny rocks. Most notable were a large latchbox, a pile of art supplies, a seared crutch, and a cracked urn.

Eorphin dropped Jeema to the ground. Upon hitting the ground, she yelped as pain coursed through her flesh. She ordered her to stand straight and still and look straight at the desperate man.

Eventually, the man turned and saw the two standing there, looking at him. The desperate expression on its face shattered and chilled into an emotionless look. His eyes were glued upon the girl that had caused him great grief that day. The pieces of charcoal he had in his arms were dropped as displeasure bubbled in his gut at the sight of her. He strode to them. They let him speak first.

"Hello, Jeema Graves. Hello, Eorphin Puppylight," he greeted.

"Hi, Renard Greymight," Eorphin responded. "It's been a while."

Jeema was quite surprised at this interaction. She turned to her divine companion and asked, "You know each other?"

She turned to the hero. "Yes. We were partners a long time ago. However, we experienced a falling out that caused us to drift apart."

"Partners... That's a good way to put our affair," Renard commented.

"Yes, I suppose it is. It's a bit a shame that it didn't work out," Eorphin agreed.

"Shame indeed," he grumbled. "What do you want?"

Eorphin opened her wings and pushed forward the girl that stood beside her. "I want her to apologize to you."

The two of them turned to the girl. Jeema felt like shrinking under their combined gaze. Their expectations mounted upon her. "I- I'm sorry. I'm sorry for the loss of your son," she let out her mouth.

She felt a wing of Eorphin hit her at the back of her head. "Again, but with feeling," she told her.

Jeema struggled to form the words. All she did was for the truth. She shouldn't be apologizing. She was right. "I-- I ask for forgiveness for the thing I have done to Henry. Please accept my apology."

Renard frowned. "I reject your apology. It's not enough. I demand a better apology."

"I can't! I shouldn't be apologizing to you. Henry's been dead for over a year. I refuse to apologize for something right," Jeema reasoned.

Renard's grimace deepened. "You really don't understand us," he sighed. "Angar was much closer to Henry, but somehow you're more fervent in mourning him. Henry's godfather had popped out of the aether to literally smack down the gravity of your actions, but you were relentless."

Eorphin smacked the girl to the ground. "You're hopeless," she groaned. "Please realize that this will reflect badly on your legend. It's young you know."

"Aren't you treating her way too harsh, dear Eorphin?" Renard told Eorphin. His voice was soft as he spoke at his old friend.

"No, it needs to be hammered home how bad her actions have been," she answered.

"I suppose so," he remarked.

Eorphin turned to the man and prepared herself for her next words. "However I too am here to apologize."

"Why?"

"It may be my fault for your son's fate to end this way," she answered.

Renard's eyes narrowed. "Please elaborate."

"We went around the nearby villages to look for potential heroes. Then we came to this village, Kelry. I wanted to choose you because you were the best hero I could remember, but you were too old for our criteria, so I chose what I thought was the next best thing: your son, Henry Greymight," she explained. Great feeling forged those words.

"I don't know whether to feel angry that you were the catalyst of his death or be flattered that you think I'm the most heroic guy you've met. I forgive you," Renard remarked. He seemed amused.

Eorphin smiled. "Yes, you are. The heroes we are grooming at the temple have nothing on you."

He chuckled at that comment. "I suppose it's been a while since I did some heroing. Say, what about a hunting trip? Just for old times sake."

Eorphin's smile widened at that offering. "I would love to."

Renard approached the wolf and patted her by the neck. His eyes widened as he felt the texture of her fur. "Oh dear me! I forgot how fluffy you were!" He exclaimed.

Eorphin only laughed at his expression.