Shep had settled into this village welcomed as a respected stranger. His compatriots had moved on to other assignments while he stayed and tried his way with those of the village. Only Corman continued to come. He was fascinated with the Cloverman, but the Shep couldn't place why. It was still his charge to remain if he was teaching those who wanted to be taught.

With Corman, though, it would literally melt down to shared time explaining each other's sacred texts and history. Shep didn't particularly like this, but he learned more about the Vorseman history and culture from Corman than from his constant exposure to the heathen culture over his entire proselyting career. Perhaps it was because Corman insisted on teaching him just as Shep would teach Corman.

Though both were determined to undermine the other's religious views, they became good friends in a way that could only be described as a matching of wills. Neither would back down, but neither would be overly insulted, so they remained close.
---
Something the Cloverman said had stuck with Corman while they were sipping ancestral spirits while talking about life in Corman's meager hut. It wasn't about sacred texts, piety or even the Gods and Saints, but about us as mortals that wander this earth:

"Men do the work of Cuthbert in the lands of men. Cuthbert, and his Saints, do their work in heaven, which is their land. Cuthbert doesn't need to be where his servants are and that is why we can rely on his servants and, in some cases, we are his servants.

"Like me, I've been doing this for... oh, say... many years. I am considered one of his servants even if I feel like I an wasting my time day after day talking to you heathens." Shep meant those words, Corman knew, but he also knew that their time together was something that.

Corman chuckled. "I can at least appreciate your company when you aren't sober. You get all wordy otherwise..."

"Here's to that!" After a wet swig from the spit jar, he held out a hand steadying himself even while sitting. He had tipped his head back a bit far which made his vision swim a bit.

Corman started conversationally but he got more intent as he spoke, "You came here and said that you could, by Cuthbert's will, save my father from his illness. This is something that the Gods themselves have refused to do. Why were you unable to help him?"

Shep was frozen with the question. When he touched Corman's father to remove the curse that consumed him, there was a darkness that refused to move boiling and rippling below the surface. When Shep demanded that it leave, it overwhelmed his vision with darkness and spoke to him. "You will not see me moved, mortal. Begone."

Shep looked at Corman and spoke aloud, "It was not Cuthbert's will." He swallowed hard with the thought.

"Then what is Cuthbert's will? What am I to do, then?" Corman said it earnestly. "I have no place here that is of any worth. I can't bear to think I'll be under my brother's rule."

"Why do you say that? I've heard you say it before. You know your people's mythical lore better than they do. It isn't Cuthbert's way, but it is some way. Your people are," Shep paused to belch, "a little lost is all. It's always easier to look to the past for answers. And, by Cuthbert, you know your past! Help your brother... teach your people the old ways, whatever they may be."

It was true. Corman knew the past, but how could he affect the present? He spent a lot of time mulling over Shep's words as well as looking through historic texts trying to find the answer that had been nagging him, but never coming to full realization.