Whispers of the void

The first blush of dawn casts its luminance over Silver Hollow as the fellowship makes ready to depart peaceful environs now restored. Villagers emerge silently from their thatch-roofed cottages bearing small tokens of provisions for the road - humble fare, but given with hearts overflowing.

Last to approach is the priest, still awkward but resolute in demeanor. “I cannot furnish what you most require for the weary leagues ahead,” he intones softly, sadness and pride commingling in his eyes. “But in place of paltry foodstuffs, please bear my hopes made manifest - that your light ever illuminates paths for others to follow.”

Oliver clasps the reformed man’s shoulder with a knowing nod. His own grin breaks overshadowed features like the sun bursting through clouds. “My friend, the greatest gifts owe naught to size or splendor. Your fresh perspective and encouragement shall help pace our steps.”