Later that evening, when the shadows were long and creeping, and Ryo began to feel afraid again, Koyuki knelt on the ground before the altar. She drew a thick circle of ash on the ground, and placed a bowl of water in it.

"This is holy water," she murmured to Ryo, who was peering curiously over her shoulder. "Now move back, I need space for this. No distractions either." She said this gently, and flashed Ryo a smile, as if to let her know she'd done no harm. Ryo scooted backward, nearly toppling over, and leaned against the nearest pew.

Koyuki nodded, then turned her back on Ryo and began to hum a strange tune; it was no earthly thing. It fell and rose as the wind, bringing to Ryo memories of her childhood in the wheat fields, or down by the stream catching tadpoles and squishing mud between her toes, or with her grandmama at the theater, gazing in awe at the actors and actresses on the stage, and on and on. The images streamed before her in a golden haze, until suddenly they stopped, as if the source had been dammed, and Ryo realized Koyuki had stopped singing.

Ryo was weeping freely, tears streaming down her face, something else she had not realized; something she had not done in a long time. Koyuki threw her a quick, fond, smile, as if she knew, before going back to her ritual. It unnerved Ryo, who was not used to being read so well by practical strangers.

Koyuki began to murmur; she started out soft and soothing like the ocean, before her voice began to crescendo steadily, until she was almost shouting. It was all so controlled and calm though, so Ryo didn't think it could quite be called that.

It took Ryo awhile to realize that Koyuki was repeating the same words over and over again:

"Dear Holy Mother, beloved of mine heart, to you I cast this prayer; walk beside us all this night, and all the days before us, and keep the devil from following our footsteps like the dog he is, amen. Dear Holy Mother, breather of life, I cast this prayer unto you; keep mine companion that walks beside me in your sight, for she is now of your holy blood, amen. Dear holy Mother, whom I live and die for, lead us in your footsteps, oh Lord, amen."

She repeated these prayers until her voice grew hoarse, and would surely have continued on if Ryo had not stopped her.

"Koyuki," she called gently, "That is enough, your mother has surely heard you."

Koyuki smiled weakly.

"Not my mother, friend, or at least—not my earthly mother. I was praying to the Mother. The Mother of all things, who carved me from stone and lit the sun in the sky."

Ryo blinked. Ah. Troll religion?

"I se—" She broke off, blinking rapidly. "Wait—carved you from stone?" She yelped.

Koyuki laughed, coming over to ruffle her hair. Ryo scowled playfully.

"Yes, of course," she chuckled, "Didn't you yourself say my skin looked like stone?"

"But!" Ryo squeaked, "You feel so warm!"

At that, they both flushed a little. Koyuki was the first to shake it off.

"I do have blood running through me," she admitted, sitting down beside Ryo, "Although it is nothing like human blood, it is warm."

Ryo frowned, thinking. "What color is it?" She blurted out curiously. Koyuki threw back her head, laughing uproariously (her laughter still managed to sound like silver bells, which Ryo found very amusing).

"My," Koyuki said, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes, "you are morbid." She paused to breathe.

"It is gold, little one, but when a troll turns against the Mother in spirit and mind, it runs black and sluggish, like tar."

Ryo blinked, taking in all of the information. She seemed to be doing that a lot lately.

"Wait," She squeaked, her mind suddenly catching up with her, "'little one'?"

Koyuki froze, flushing dark green.

"Ah," she muttered, "It slipped out. Do you not like it?"

Ryo shook her head quickly. "No, no!" She exclaimed, "It's fine! I was just surprised, is all."

Koyuki smiled shyly at Ryo, who cleared her throat nervously. "Well," she said, laughing nervously, "I should probably have a nickname for you too? I mean, if that's ok with you?" Koyuki looked thoughtful for a minute, twisting her hands in her lap. "Yuki," she blurted suddenly, her eyes widening as if surprised she had spoken. "Yuki," she said softer, looking strangely sad. Ryo took her hand and squeezed it gently. They gazed at each other, and it seemed as if a strange buzzing filled the air.

"Yuki it is, then," Ryo whispered.