Death was constant, unprejudiced to age, race, or creed.
Cricket’s voice broke through Thomas’s memory. He was reading a letter, most likely from his mother. He was trying hard to hide it, but he was tearing up. “Captain I don’t want to be here,” was all he could choke out. Thomas reached over an...
There are no saints either. We are immortal, but not so unlike the humans as you think. We have enemies, we have duties, we hate, we struggle, and we love.
Thomas looked around and tried not to let his duty turn him bitter. These were good men, and he would not leave them behind. He had chosen this, an unselfish life.
You cannot have a best friend for one hundred and fifty four years without trust.
God will bring into judgment both the righteous and the wicked, for there will be a time for every activity, a time to judge every deed. ~Ecclesiastes 3:17
You think me noble?” She rolled to her side facing him. “Am I saint-like? Do I slay dragons and hang the moon as well?
The Castus had become a myth to most, a shadow, but Thomas knew that every rumor was rooted in truth.
What kind of person would I be if I didn’t fight for them, those who God deemed most precious?
He took her hand without question, without fear, and he never regretted it.
