Bertholt knelt alongside the elder, clasping his hands over his heart, regarding the goddess with a mixture of awe, sorrow and obligation. He too had prayers to make, and something to ask of the Goddess, the words of which could only be heard by Bertholt.
He spoke in a calm whisper, with all the intensity of a gathering storm. Bertholt often prayed, when the times were difficult, when they had suffered setbacks that had made it ever-more difficult to succeed. This habit of his had begun years ago, long before he became a priest in the priory, as a young boy. Even now, he'd pray to carry himself through the chaos; in the dark of night, after the others had gone to sleep except those on watch, Bertholt would pray for guidance. He'd prayed on the eve after the battle in Vaster's palace, after the fight in Anecca, after they'd found Rina's hanging, bloated corpse.
The burden of the fate of Izzarra's people had lain on many different people in this group; on Martyn, on Sharne, on all those who had tried, again and again, to convince the leaders of nations to help the people of Izzarra. Now it lay on Bertholt, and Bertholt was no great orator, nor bore any great power, political, military, or magical, to persuade the elders to help Izzarra. All he had was his heart, and what proof and words his allies could give him.
And so he prayed.
"Great Mother Rhea, the way forward is dark, and the obstacles upon it treacherous to traverse. I shall do what I will, to protect your flock, not to earn favours, but because it is the right thing to do. I know it in my heart. This path, I will not turn away from. I swear it; for Roux, for the others of this group, for those who have died for the sake of Izzarra, and for the people who still suffer there.
Even if I do not know if I will succeed, I must carry on.
I lay myself down before you, Great Mother. Most humbly do I implore you, give me the strength and the will to do what is right for the people of Izzarra, and aid me in helping liberate them from their plight."