The afternoon sun hovers in the heavens above them as they trek the path to the village. Mariette readjusts in the saddle, trying to find a more soft position to ease the taunting ache that burns in her lower back. She sighs, malcontent, and breaks the silence with a question, "Sir, might we hold for a moment. I ache after so long of bouncing upon this old saddle." Armen nods and begins directing the horse over to the edge of the path, where the canopy of trees from the forest hang over and give shade.

  Armen assists her off of the horse and she stretches languidly, groaning as her muscles release pent up tension. Mariette sits upon the soft grass while Armen stands, still holding the reigns while the horse begins to lazily graze the ground. Mariette watches him, many questions burning through her mind. About himself, his world within Cathedral, the life he leads. So many things she had yet to know, and without a clue of how to begin asking. After a few minutes, Armen clears his throat, "Mariette. It is time we continue." he informs.

  Mariette sighs, already she feels the exhaustion of travel, and only had she been away for a half day. How one does this often, such as Armen, is beyond her. She stands and, taking Armen's hand, is helped back up into the saddle.

  As Armen marches beside the horse, he could feel Mariette's eyes burning into him. Uncomfortable by her seeming stare, he decides to break the silence of their journey, "Mariette. How do you fare of yet? It seems there is something weighing upon you."

  Mariette, taken aback by his sudden query, stammers as she begins to speak, "I-Well, uh... In my years within the convent, in the seclusion from the world outside, I have only ever heard whispers of your kind. Only when a merchant or traveler would pass by could I glean something of the world outside. The stories of humans and their struggles and triumphs...It lit a curiosity within myself and soon I was enamored in learning more of your kind."

  "Oh?" Armen remarks, "A fascination with humans? In what manner?"

  Sister Mariette blushes lightly underneath her fur, for she had never spoken of her intellectual muse with another, let alone someone who is a living subject of it. "I... I find your world to be intriguing," she admits. "The way you live, the emotions you harbor, the battles and struggles you fight. It's so different from our secluded life here."

  "Well... I fear you may be under the misconception that human life varies greatly than an manolon's."

  "What do you mean?" Mariette asks as her head cocks to the side while a single ear folds down against her head, clearly puzzled by the thought.

  "I mean that..." Armen begins speaking before pausing to recollect his thoughts, "I suppose it shouldn't surprise me that you know so little of your own kind as well; being raised from a babe in the seclusion of the convent." Mariette silently processes his words while he continues, "Not all manolons are Christian like you or I. In fact, many of them are pagans. South, beyond the forests and fields lies a kingdom of sand and dust, populated with kin similar to your own, though they are mostly feline. I've never been so far that way, but I've heard tell that they worship many gods at once. Similar to the savage men of the north. They live within mountains and snow, with gods that represent objects. I digress, however. In either of our kingdoms, I have met many a man and manolon that I daresay could have been the same. Each rife with greed, selfishness, lust: all the qualities that make one into a mirror of the other. Honestly I feel that the only thing that keeps our kingdoms separate is our beliefs in God."

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  Mariette cocks a brow at his explanation, "What is different in our beliefs? Do you think that Jesus is a human, like yourself?"

  "Well, I know that he is a human like myself. Your kind, I fear, is mistaken. Your kind are the descendants of the Nephilim."

  "What?? No, that's ridiculous," Mariette chuckles, laughing to herself at the absurdity of his claim.

  "It is true. Mankind is the only species unique to this world. We were made in the image of God. You were born of the Nephilim, who were sired by the fallen angels that lusted after our own human women. 'Tis why you all share the features of an animal. God hath marked your kind with such a scar in your lineage so that the world might not forget the befouling events that took place in ages past."

  Mariette, upon hearing his beliefs, nearly burst out into a hearty laugh, thankfully able to choke it into a cough so that she might not insult his beliefs, even if they were nearly blatant untruths. After clearing her throat, "I think that is exactly what makes your kind the children of Nephilim. Thou bear no resemblance to anything of this world, your kind is the furthest disconnected from the nature that God hath made for us. You cannot survive without creation of things that allow you to. You endow no claws, fangs, poisons. You only exist out of ingenuity, not naturality. Whereas my kin are more like the feral animals that live on this earth. Sharing our world like we share our features."

  Armen continues walking alongside the horse while she spoke, nearly immediately upon her finishing her sentence did he remark, "And now you see what started the Hundred-Years war."

  A considerate look lingers on Mariette's face as she takes in the information. Trying to understand the opposing ideologies between herself and Sir Armen. She considers what things might be different if their kingdoms might know for sure whether Jesus were of human or manolon. As she ponders, a question pokes her mind: "Sir Armen?"

  "Please, I believe we are long past formalities anymore. 'Armen' is fine..."

  "Do you think that mayhap the Lord had his son sacrificed in Golgotha, so that there would always be speculation upon his species? Since Jerusalem were a city of both yours and mine?"

  Armen chuckles lightly, "Well, Mariette, that is one of the defining factors between Cathedral and the kingdoms adjacent. Where Bronne thinks of Jesus officially as a man, Antheron thinks of him officially as a manolon, but one of the defining characteristics that separates Cathedral from them is that we do not concern ourselves with it. It is entirely personal faith. Cathedral officially recognizes that Jesus is the son of God and is God in flesh. That is it. His divinity and his deeds are all that we truly concern ourselves with, the rest is hearsay and conjecture. In short, yes, we in Cathedral believe that the Lord had made sure that Jesus was crucified there for the purpose of never knowing whether he was human or manolon. That way, anyone is able to be saved by Christ, and neither of our kinds might claim superiority over the other. Jesus had made us all equals in faith, and all subject to His grace."

  Mariette reservedly digests the information Armen bequeaths unto her. Pondering the underlying wisdom of this new point of view. Only voicing a hum of acknowledgment. They continue onward, either of them contemplative of their conversation.