The Priest winced as he got down on to his knees and began to pray. The years of prostration had taken its toll on his old joints, yet he never complained. He recounted the stories, lit the candles and performed the rituals, as was dictated by his tradition.

Battered and torn robes adorned his shoulders, off white in colour. Around his neck sat a golden cross held in place by a thin leather cord that he kept tucked away under his shirt. Soft blue eyes, gentle wrinkle lines and a prominent nose further gave his aging body away.