Startled, you shift your gaze and note a pair of holies—a monk and a nun—standing together in threadbare robes. Though they may have been cloistered at one point, they have a vagabond look about them now, as if God directed them to do His works while living inside a hollowed-out tree stump.
"Saul, the Feckless! Saul, the Weak-Willed! Saul, the Hollow King!" they take turns hollering out.
"Watch your tongues," the captain of your escort barks at them, quivering with rage—but you can tell his deference to God's anointed is staying his hand from acting against the rabble-rousers.
Onward