To Theodore’s house he came, though mind adrift. Words failed him, but he knew some ill fate came. Before the house he paused, expected another group of townsfolk here. It was less grand than Arnold’s house, difference meager, but azure eyes picked at slight difference. In form and color, it was like the other houses; yet, pretense colored it. Cassidy shook his head. How could a house be pretense?

He dismissed the odd deduction. Upon the door he knocked, though gentler than before. Inside someone stirred but stilled. Long was the silence. A thin sigh whispered from the other side of the door. Slowly it opened, Theodore just inside.

“Mister Bullock,” resigned, he spoke. “I knew I’d see you at my door. Tabitha’s interference has already done a lot of damage,” bitter words bled from delicate lips.

“It is of dire consequence, Mister Griffith,” Cassidy nodded, “and I would never interfere, normally.

“Obadiah Mather has been the only source of comfort,” eyes lowered drift to memories, “for the last year. Tragedy befell me.” He looked at Cassidy, “I mean Sulky Hills. The Covenant Tree is ill.”

“I know the false preacher has filled your heads with lies,” spat the bounty hunter.

A soft hand rose to ward off any further harsh words, “I confessed many things to Obadiah, some only…Dermot knew. You’re wasting your time, Mister Bullock.”

“I actually came to speak of Griswold’s son,” he ventured; sure it was the correct course. Theodore grimaced at the old man’s name.

“Oh,” he jerked at the name upon the bounty hunter’s lips, touched the scarf. “I…wasn’t expecting to speak of him.” Back a step, a hand gripped the door, and Cassidy feared he would close it.

“I’m here to help, not judge,” he held up his hands, “I’m a stranger, but whatever happened, it hurt a lot of you.”

Theodore considered. “Well, I suppose it will do no harm to speak to you,” he said, and to himself he nodded. “Yes, maybe, if you understand the loss, you’ll see that we need the Revival of Carnisvale.”

“Thank you,” he tipped his hat, and joined the Elder Griffith in his house. Once inside, Cassidy was surprised at the simple aesthetic, and was reminded of his Caroline. His wife kept a lovely home, but was never given over to extravagance. To the flowers, he smiled, though they were blighted with the Blasphemy. They added a homely feel with their comely visage. None of Arnold’s preoccupation with the outside world, it perceived sins. Soft touches added to the charm, and the ubiquitous stench of decayed wood was lesser here.

Theodore returned with fresh water, and an apple, which was still blemished, yet mostly edible. “Sorry about the Blasphemy blight. After the revival, it shall be lifted,” he said politely, but touched the lovely scarf of turquoise and dove-white.

“Your home is quite fair,” returned Cassidy, “your wife has nice taste.”

“I’m unmarried,” Theodore said, but again, he touched the beautiful flow of fabric.

“Oh…uh, very well,” shrugged the bounty hunter with scowl, “it is nice.”

“Thank you, Mister Bullock,” he raised a hand, palms out, “I’ll remind you, that I already know of the Langston family. When you rode into Sulky Hills,” soft features tightened. “I’ve only seen Mister Morgan and Todd act so…wrathful. Obadiah warned us that you’re quick to rage.”

Cassidy jerked; nerves pricked, for the false preacher had set traps with his serpent’s tongue. “I apologize for my outburst, but I hope you’ll give me a chance.”

“I’ve let you in to speak,” he relaxed.

“I’m truly sorry to intrude,” he said though cautious, “I’ve heard you and Dermot Todd were very close.”

“Very close,” replied the Elder in a sad, ponderous tone, “yes, we grew up together, being of a major house…respectively.”

“I believe that his unfortunate demise is the true wound of this town,” he ventured. “Sometimes, in my experience, people will choose an extraordinary explanation, when a rational one will suffice.”

“Indeed,” Theodore smiled, “the Covenant does guard us, guides us; yet, I’m less given over to such fantastical reason as the other Elders.” He nodded, “But, the soul can be corrupted, if your faith and resolve fail.”

“Arnold and Tabitha are grieved by the loss.”

“Are they,” returned Theodore, flat, “she was the final push, and Mister Morgan was the first, but had plenty of help from Mister Todd.”

“I know they feel responsible,” he frowned at the man’s sudden stiffness.

“They contributed to it,” lips thinned to a slash, “and life can be very cruel.”

“I don’t understand,” he said, for the veiled answers vexed him.

“I…we loved Dermot Todd,” calm cracked, “but he was facing a possible excommunication and expulsion. Somethings can be forgiven, if left in the past. Holding on to it would have doomed him. Life outside of Sulky Hills would be a death sentence, especially for the soul.”

“The whole world isn’t evil,” returned Cassidy, “there are good and evil people. There is good and evil in us all, I reckon.”

“As a man, who hunts criminals,” countered the Elder Griffith, “does the outside world run on love and faith or blood?”

Cassidy jerked, “Some just are never meant to be in polite society. The innocent must be protected from the wicked.”

“That is why Dermot would have been asked to leave,” he touched the scarf. “Even when we were young, consigned to Mister Morgan’s Penance, he was headstrong and vibrant.’

“You probable knew him the best.”

“Yes,” Theodore smile, “we were like brothers.”

“Closer than brothers,” added the bounty hunter.

At this the Elder grew silent so long, that Cassidy feared he had somehow offended. “You could say that,” he spoke in measured tone, “I lost my father, and we both suffered under Mister Morgan. Mister Todd…is a stern man, resolute in the repulsion of iniquity. Both had given Dermot a choice: change and recant or banishment and mostly likely death.”

“What could he have done?” asked Cassidy, who failed to hear anything worthy of such dire sentences.