#{ -thread }

Judith cannot help but be suspicious of someone who goes out of their way to bother him in his isolation to seek answers. There are plenty of people who where there, who are still well and alive now, who would be plenty more willing, and far easier to find to answer these questions than he is. He raises his brow.

Judith knows how it feels, gods, he knows it all too well. To this day, remnants of his survivor's guilt still haunted him. The people he lost that he just couldn't save. The blood splattered by his own hands. The nightmares and visions telling him to embrace it, to give in to what he is. Almost as if it's a curse for Bhaal's children to shatter everything they touch into a million pieces. The cleric wouldn't be surprised if that truly was the case, somehow. While, of course, he didn't know of the full extent of the half elf's affliction and how their circumstances where both far more different... From one Bhaalspawn to another, he could still see eye to eye with Puck. Or at least, he hoped he could.

It was all so much for Judith. Too much, all at once, almost. The... things they saw within the walls of the laboratory, Imoen's capture... the horrid, horrid dreams all coming back to him once more. He was tired, but even when resting in an inn for the evening, all that could be said in the back of his head was how the money for the inn could've been used for Imoen. Money for supplies, food, despite all being necessities for their travels felt like a waste when they had his sister's life on the line. Not to mention how everyday it felt like everyone around him was getting closer to risking their lives, too. He couldn't lose someone else so quickly. Not anybody. Not Evune. The words slip out of him, like on accident. Like he wasn't even thinking, they just came out on their own. Like he'd been beaten down, and it's all that was left for him to do. As he was healing Evune's wounds, he was just... so tired. Endlessly so.

"...It has, yes." Judith responds. "I've certainly been living more... Quietly, but it suits me, I'd hope." As Khalid looks to make eye contact with the priest, he's still as slightly short as he was all those years ago. The more they linger on awkward silence, the clearer it is that with all the wrinkles, grey hairs that Khalid had gained, Judith looked the same as ever. Under all the golden robes, the braided hair, it's still that same, scared boy he met at the Friendly Arm Inn what feels like a life time ago. Though... he seems a little more at peace, now. At least.

The sun was rising. For the Lathanderian priest, it was time for him to begin his blessings. Recite a prayer, thank the Morninglord for the another day of light that he's given him. It was all routine for Judith. The same routine he had gotten used to for decades now. Afterwards, he would take a small walk through the woods, and let the dappled rays of the sun wash over him. It was nice. Peaceful. ...This morning, however, he could sense something was wrong. It's a feeling he knows he hadn't sensed in a long time. That instinct of knowing you're being watched. Part of him was certainly hoping that it was just years of isolation finally getting to him. That he was just being paranoid. Why would someone come all the way here, after all, to try and find him...? The stories being shared across Toril proclaimed his death, after all. He'd hoped most would come to believe it. But that... itching sensation. It wouldn't leave him. Once the idea was ticked into his head, it was hard to let go.