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    Summary

    “The world seems full of good men – even if there are monsters in it.” - Bram Stoker, Dracula

    Usually, the long climb up the barren hillside means he sees any of his visitors coming long before they reach him. He knows all their faces too, by now; even the villagers who do not attend his services. This man is new.
    He is well-dressed. Exceptionally well-dressed. Gale has seen neither cloth nor embroidery so fine since he arrived here. His stark white hair is precisely styled, the curls barely moving in the not inconsiderable wind.
    He turns as Gale approaches. His hearing must be astonishing.
    Gale almost does a double take. Though the fashion, when he was a boy, was to be pale, he has never seen a man as pale as this. His skin is like porcelain, like so many women would have killed to have been born with. There's something almost uncanny about it, in actuality. On the wind-blown clifftop, it makes him seem like a ghost. A beautiful ghost, undoubtedly. But a ghost, all the same.
    “Good morning, and blessings be upon you,” Gale calls. The man’s placid expression twists, for a moment, into something like pain. 

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