[How many injuries did any of us have, Deacon asks, and Myr makes a quiet noise between a snort and a half-hearted laugh. Too many, in his case; he knows his own weakness here, though he has long had the luxury--kept in a Circle under templar guard--of not dealing with it.

No longer. Whatever advice might exist on the matter is welcome.] Thank you. I will make the effort at it; we've all need enough for whatever peace we can get.

[Braziers, and sins, and wayward templars. Another way of finding peace, to see all one's wrongs erased in flame and remitted.] Observing our faith more openly, [thoughtful,] would be a good example for those who wonder what it is we defend and have only the worst stories to go on.

[He tips his head at Deacon's question, as if he would spend a moment considering it from all sides as he has the others, but this is an easier answer--] I take them at their word; but they are so often at odds I'd think one of them would have broken any conspiracy they'd forged out of sheer spite and told us if they did hear things whispering to them. Or one of the ones who trusts so completely, [it does not show in his voice but he aches that they do, and that their trust is inevitably betrayed,] that the world means them only good might say something amiss. You've heard them.