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Part of her is mildly disappointed that the village is still intact, because, y'know, she'd feel a bit more important (if horrendously guilty) if her presence was all that stood between Jova and destruction. She also might get a little more mileage out of the "Woe is Me" thing, although that's usually only fun if you have someone to give you sympathy.

But no, it's about the same as she left it. Sonia sighs, leaning back against the rocky wall of the cliff. She's not even sure she can make it to her house to stay the night, with what happened last time. She definitely isn't going to try the church- that'd just be suicide. If she could maybe manage a supply run, she might be able to sleep in a cave or something and not freeze to death.

"be nice t'know where y'want me, Lord," she mutters, "can't take much more o' this bein' kicked around."

The crunch of dry leaves and twigs answers her. She spins to face the intrusion on her apostrophe, stumbling as the weight on her front keeps going after she'd intended to stop.

"Sonia?" The intruder steps forward, the thin gold of the afternoon sun catching ragged robes.

"Father Martin..." She throws her arms around his neck, sobbing.

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Sonia Belmont

February 2008

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