Thanksgiving interfered with writing this week.
It may have been a blessing in disguise,
since I need to decide on the most dramatic
direction to go with this setup. I'm not
at all sure that having him "wolf out"
in the church is the best way to go...
At least, not this early in the story.
Father Benedict dragged himself from bed
And rubbed the sleep from his eyes.
The pounding echoed through the halls
Of the church – erratic, as though
The visitor struggled just to knock.
He draped his blanket over his shoulders
And shuffled to the door. "Who is it?"
He heard a moan. The pounding seemed to slide
Down the door, weaker as it fell.
He tried to open the door
But something wedged it shut.
With a grunt and a heave
He shoved the blockage from the door
And gasped. It was a naked body.
"Dietrich! May the Lord forgive me!"
Quickly he flung the blanket around his friend
And dragged him inside, down the hall
To his room. He placed him on his bed,
Hurriedly brewed some tea,
And tended Dietrich's wounds.
One in particular bothered him –
A gash in his side that could have been
Caused by the blast from a gun.
Powder burns mingled there with blood,
Though he saw no trace of a bullet.
When the tea was ready,
Benedict managed to get
A few sips down Dietrich's throat,
But he never truly woke from his stupor.
The Father's vigil lasted most of the day –
A worried, prayerful vigil.