"Don't worry," Judas said, assuring Oliver. "He's just trying to save his pride, I reckon. There's not a man in this village that would stand against you, Oliver. It's yours, properly."
By Ingolsol's grip, Oliver knew it to be true. Greeves' heart was a more complicated one than any of theirs. The sheer intensity of the emotion that swam through the man was enough to be maddening. It was baffling to Oliver, seeing it, that the man could live in that state. But so too, could he detect the man's passion. There was no disloyalty there, no deceit. Just desire.
"Leave me with a modicum of self-respect, won't you…" Greeves complained, turning away. "Crying the night before, and now this bollox. I've been thoroughly relegated."
"Not at all," Nila said, smiling, placing a kind hand on his arm, treating him as she would an old grandfather. "Only relative to Oliver. But relative to the rest of the world, we've all been raised up. That's enough, isn't it?"
