If I have all faith, so as to remove mountains.

I.

The next time he saw Feliks, it would be at least an hour after supper was brought to him. After their last encounter, Toris went back to drifting in and out of sleep, though this time he dreamed. Though, it would be more fitting to call them flashes of images rather than a coherent sequence of events. He dreamed about his town, his time as a squire, this town, his journeys as a knight… and he dreamed about that gold-haired figure with lily-green eyes.

This time, Feliks came in without warning, again. He wore the same white robe, and in his hand he held a blood red apple. Seeing Toris' finished bowl, he half-heartedly held the apple out to him in question. When Toris shook his head, Feliks shrugged and took a bite out of it.

"I could try contacting your group," said Feliks, settled in the same chair again, beside his bed. "Which banner are you under? I could write you a letter for aid from the churches, and they'll be able to guide you back."

So Toris told him his affiliation, and Feliks, to his surprise, instantly pulled out a set of ink and letter paper from the drawer of the nightstand. "To the most reverend and esteemed father in Christ.." Feliks spoke, as he wrote. "I, Feliks Łukasiewicz, humble priest of the Church… send greetings… It is in sincere hope in Divine Providence that I write to you in a matter of great emergence, for a noble knight, Sir Toris Laurinaitis" – here, Feliks laughed – "has arrived at our town, and had been separated from his banner. This knight seeks to reunite with his comrades, whose location is presently unknown to him."

Toris watched the blond write in a surprisingly elegant script, hunched over the small nightstand, and all the while with a half-eaten apple still in his hand. He wondered if the priest he is writing to would cry in outrage at his blatant act of improperness if he knew. "...May the Lord bless your work and keep you steadfast in His service. I await your reply, and pray that the wisdom of God shall guide us in our endeavour." And with that he signed the letter off, more flamboyant and grand that it needed to be, yet that just suited him. "Amen."

He folded the letter twice, and twirled it in his hands. "Now that's done. You were lucky, you know, that you mistakenly stumbled into this town. It would've been wholly unfortunate if you fainted in the middle of nowhere."

Toris gave him a look, and Feliks just responded by grinning cheekily. Of course, Toris could guess himself why he went to this town, and to this church, of all places. Instead, he kept silent, and simply nodded along. Feliks didn't seem to be bothered by his silence, and instead he continued chatting animatedly.

"You should attend Sunday mass."

"I could also attend weekday mass," replied Toris, without even understanding what he meant himself. "And if there is anything I could help with… in thanks for your hospitality."

Feliks finished off the rest of his apple. "You do know that you still have an awfully prominent gash on your side, right?"

II.

Over the next three days Feliks came to visit him periodically, chatting to him about this and that. More often than not he carried with himself a snack or a beer, and even sometimes full meals during lunchtimes, that Toris had half the mind to think the infirmary was the priest's dining hall. He claimed that he was healed already and requested to walk around, but Feliks rolled his eyes at him and said that if the wound reopens it'll just be more work for them. So he obliged, and continued to lay there, and continued to watch Feliks eat his potatoes and drink his beer.

The fourth day was Sunday, and by the excuse of mass Toris was finally granted mobility. Feliks sent one of the pages to his room to assist him if needed, to which he thought was excessive for there is no way he wouldn't be able to handle such an easy task. Getting dressed was no problem. Thus he confidently stood up, and successfully made it to the doorway before he gave in.

Despite the page's confusion he still chose to sit in the second last row, on the left. The church looked the same as it did almost a decade ago, though now it seemed more vivid than his memory. Slowly, he watched the people trickle in, entering in groups, gliding towards the altar, still wearing their colorful fabrics.

The church bell rang, its sound echoing throughout the chambers. The dim chatter hushed, and soon would start the hymn of the choir. They sang, their voices as angelic and ethereal as he remembered, like light bouncing off the walls. Then, from behind him, the priest entered, followed by two candle barriers. As the priest walked, Toris could still not see his face.

Over his white robes he wore another blood red chasuble, this one falling to his knees, fashioned even more elaborately in golden thread and ornate beadings, that, once Feliks reached the altar and turned to face the parishioners, still were not able to out-compete the gold of his hair and the green of his eyes. He still walked as if he had wings, walked with grace like he was made to do so; and each gesture he made from opening the bible to placing his hands together in reverence was with such perfection. From the back Toris watched him, transfixed, as he spoke, his voice calming yet not without youthfulness, youthful yet without question, the solemn-faced candle barrier now a stately priest. He watched him, as the sunlight sifted through the stained glass, casting spots of red and blue and green on the ground beneath his feet. Toris watched him, with almost a feel that he is more than a mouthpiece, that he felt like divinity himself.

Through Him, with Him, and in Him, O God, Almighty Father, in the unity of the Holy Spirit, all glory and honor is Yours, forever and ever.

Great Amen, the crowd said back in response, their lips moving and their hands held close to their hearts.

When the closing rites concluded the mass of people stood up again, flowing towards church doors like a continuity of sparse liquid. Some wandered up and approached Feliks, who wore that easy smile on his face again, listening to their worries on familial matters, concern in things they've seen, inquiries of faith, invitations to social gatherings… the blond nodded and smiled at every one of them, uttering a prayer and words of comfort as he sent them on their way.

After the last parishioner exited the church, Feliks came walking over to him. The gold embroidery on his red overcoat glittered in the sunlight with every step he took. "Now we have to get the sickly back to bed," he declared. Toris frowned. How is it that one could switch characters so quickly, and so drastically?

"I am perfectly capable of doing so myself," he said back in retaliation. So Feliks raised his eyebrows slightly and moved aside as an invitation. Toris propped himself up by holding the back of the seat in front, and slowly he inched his way down the aisle, using the rows of benches as leverage. Feliks followed behind him, matching his pace, until they turned the corner and ended up back in the infirmary.

The priest took one look at his pale face and the beads of cold sweat forming on his forehead, and sighed. "So independent, so not in need of help. Say, why put yourself through unnecessary work?"

"I don't really feel the pain," Toris defended, weakly.

"That's what the children all say," replied Feliks. He started taking off his chasuble when he was abruptly halted by the knight again. "You're undressing here?!"

Feliks stared at him, pausing his movement. "You do realize that this is the equivalent of a cloak or some outer jacket, right?" When he didn't get a reply, the priest waved his hand and said, "alright, alright. I won't bother you anymore."

"But, by the way, since you are so confident in your abilities, attend weekday mass," he ordered. "Since you don't want to be cooped up here all the time. And walk around the town if you so wish. I'm not coming to rescue you if you fall face-first into the ground again."

With that, he walked out of the infirmary and closed the door. Toris sat on his bed, and felt strange, for he had never acted like this in front of anyone else before.

III.

The church is in the centre of the town. Surrounded by the walls of the church was a small garden, with modest flowerbeds and hosted a small well, attached to the undercurrents of the Spring River.

The first row of houses were markets and vendors. It was the town centre, the busiest place, where if one was lucky there was a good chance of acquiring a rolling coin or a rolling apple. And where there were many people there were even more eyes, so if one wanted the whole town to know about something, it best be declared here.

To the north, the trees caved in, leaving only a small stretch of road until it opened up again, and thus the barrier served as a natural gate. On the right of the north crossed the Spring River, and at the end there was a large manor, the most elaborate in the town aside from the church, and that housed the wealthy. The north was mainly for residency.

From north to south the Spring River and the Fall River converged, flowing into one. The south was a small hill, mainly occupied by farmlands and fields, and atop that hill sat a small red mill. The miller and his wife resided there with their two children, and it often took them quite a while to get down the hill and to the town centre.

From the convergence of the two rivers they flowed outwards to the east. On the next ring of houses, across from the markets, was a tavern, and next to it an inn. Even when the sun has set quiet laughter could be heard, along with the clinking of cups and chatter. Further down the road it was inhabited by all sorts of workshops, from blacksmith to mason to carpenter. In the east there was a seamstress, admired for her great skill; when the ladies received new fabrics they rushed to her, and with her delicate hand she fashioned them new vibrant pieces and made them blush like flowers.

In the west there was no river, nor the wealthy nor the economy. From the town centre the paved road stretched inwards, and it was yet another area of residency, though it was far less interesting to live there. Occasionally during the night there would be a howl from a dog or the clanging of fallen pots from a curious cat, and the sleeping people would be shook awake and their curiosity prevailed until they poked their heads out and then the noise would cease, as its owner would have calmed down the animal and whispered apologies. The townspeople would then glance up at the moon hanging so bright overhead, and each night they saw it changing. Other times a drunk man or a hysteric wife would cause the same cacophony. Though unlike the north, no one in the west seemed to care about these types of things. When asked if they considered the west a desirable place to live, most of them would reply no, and when asked if they would like to move, few would answer yes.

The town, from north to south to east to west, was surrounded and bounded by trees. The town existed in the middle of a forest. To access the nearest other town they would have to go down south, past the hill, and enter a single dirt road hidden in the thickets. They would need to walk continuously for an hour, or forty minutes if they put their mind to it. If there was one thing fortunate about the lack of development in transportation was that there was only a singular path, so one would not need to worry about getting lost. On the other side would emerge a town, though not as elaborate and comparatively small, but a town nonetheless. In this town, it was not surrounded by forests, and instead one could see stretches and stretches of plains.

On Wednesday Feliks received a letter from the neighbouring town, inviting him over for a gathering. The page handed it to him just as that day's mass ended with Feliks in the infirmary, and the priest read out the letter with Toris by his side. He then remembered the letter he sent asking for Toris' banner's whereabouts, and assured him that it would have reached that town by now.

"Father Łukasiewicz…" he read, skimming through the words. "Greetings in the name of the Lord… it would be an honour if you could join us for a meal…" he closed the letter, and pondered for a moment. "We don't have much to do on Friday, do we?" The page shook his head, and Feliks smiled in response. He said that he will answer the letter, and with that dismissed him to his duties.

"You should join me on Friday."

Surprised, Toris halted his sewing. "Why?"

"Because you're a knight, and that's kind of rare around here," replied Feliks. He peered over at Toris' work, and, impressed, "you learn this stuff?"

Sighing, he answered, "it's just a normal skill, isn't it? And are you really just going to parade me around like a strange animal, and so openly admit to it?"

"But you are a strange animal!" As if not sensing his glare, Feliks continued, "besides, imagine how much the neighbouring town's people will look up to us if I say that an honoured knight has frequented our village. And not theirs."

"I thought pride is a sin."

"Wanting the best for one's community can hardly be a sin," Feliks replied. "Would nationalistic feeling be a sin?"

"I'm afraid I am the wrong person to ask, Father Łukasiewicz."

Feliks was about to turn and leave the room when he suddenly turned around and stuck his tongue out at him. "I'm taking it that you're going, then. Oh, also do be a dear and finish fixing that hem by Thursday evening, will you? I'll wear that to the Friday meal."

He didn't even have to look to imagine Toris' exasperated expression, and the subtle nod of his head.