As the GrandMaster's Lady, I lived under the shadow of the man called to be our shepherd, the one who would draw our Healers back to God. The breadth of his presence spread upon us so far and wide from the repose of his wheelchair, so all encompassing and inescapable. It reminds me of sitting on a hillock of thick green grass, reclining against a fir tree, and resting beneath the comfort of spring shade. Curled on his lap, lost in the care of his arms, a glimpse of eternity was mine. Even as our Kingdom Rose Atonement bore witness to the many wonderful works Our Liege of Wings performed through him, he reserved His cherished touch for me. Writing these words and thinking of those days, I feel his fingertips lifting my chin and his lips pressing my cheeks. The touch of his deep mahogany skin pressing against mine indwells me. When people saw him riding through the congested City roads atop his faithful Stag Mibtach, Healers bowed, Riders saluted, and the townspeople cheered. They knew of his unfailing love for them as surely as they knew the warmth of the midday sun. They remembered and could never forget that though years ago a wild-dragon had broken him in half (back on that horrid day when, to save his friend, he stood tall and selfless, long-sword in hand, against the creature) on another day, a similar day, my only heart and love faced yet another one, this time bearing neither sword nor armor, and he felled it by his faith alone, saving an entire Stag division under his charge. They knew that only his devotion to Our Liege could have allowed him to possess and wield such power. Whether riding strapped to his saddle or wheeling his chair through the bleak halls of Curing House, with the wink of his eye, they felt the embrace of his care, the depth of his love, and knew that he would never fail them.