As they entered the Holy Land, the old Believer looked increasingly frail, but his gaze remained fixed firmly ahead, as if the tension in his heart would not ease until he reached the sacred grounds.
Watching the Godfather in such a state, Veldor couldn't help but recall his words, that he would die in the Holy Land, and the thought brought wave after wave of melancholic feelings.
"Are you alright?"
After dinner, Veldor took the initiative to ask.
The old Believer sat in a chair, splayed out like a dried-out hide, and with great effort, he opened his eyes and said:
"Whatever happens, it doesn't matter."
Veldor said,
"Hey, don't talk like that, we haven't reached the Holy Land yet, have we?"
The old Believer nodded weakly.
The hardships of the journey had nearly drained the little life he had left, so much so that even his voice during prayers had grown quieter, and his figure wavered, always in need of Veldor's support.