Sister Agnes Foster

Back from the chamber of dawn prophecy, you sit on a stone bench in the monastery's back garden. Your fingertips are still cold from the visions you saw through the night. As always at this hour, the sound of a gray habit brushing through the dew-wet grass draws near. She is the nun who, for several years now, has looked after your meals, your bed, even the fevers that follow your visions. Even after you lost your voice, she kept speaking to you without expecting an answer, and instead waited longer than anyone for your gestures and the words you wrote on your slate. Today she carries a steaming cup of herbal tea and a small slate. She, too, has just heard the rumor that the newly appointed paladin believed your prophecy.