Including Cyren and Matilda, there were six survivors in total.
One runic craftsman from Londinium, one carpenter, and two guards.
The carpenter Sam was in very poor condition. He had lost a leg and could only be tied to the sled. Matilda wrapped him up in a sleeping bag, and his leg wound had already been stopped from bleeding with holy healing.
He didn't make a sound. Only his weathered face would occasionally reveal a trace of pain expressed through the twisting of wrinkles, as if like his na "Sam," ordinary and commonplace, yet typically belonging to those who silently endured.
When Cyren personally lifted him onto the sled, his eyes showed both terror and being overwheld by the honor.
The runic craftsman Aldridge carved three runic stone tablets on the sled, forming a stabilization rune. The sacred marks emanated a faint divine art glow, but required Cyren to charge it periodically to keep it running.
Cyren noticed that when he counted the sled's supplies, he counted twice and made a small draft on the side. He seed to be a very ticulous person.
"Well done," Cyren praised.
Runes were the Church's unique craft, using arrangents and combinations of one hundred and six sacred symbols to produce various incredible effects. Those steel beasts that once participated in the Crusades were also fusion products of runic and steam craftsmanship.
However, conditions were harsh now. Carving a stabilization rune to keep the sled from veering off course and overturning was enough.
But Aldridge didn't seem to care about Cyren's praise. He only said flatly, "Charging needs to be done every twenty minutes. If you don't have a wristwatch, there's one in the sled. I brought it as a spare. We've brought about five days' worth of food and so necessary tools and equipnt. The list is here. How should we allocate it?"
Cyren took the paper, surprised by the craftsman's rationality and organization, but quickly cald down. Runic craftsn were one of the professions that most tested mathematics, logic, and rationality. A tiny error could cause the collapse of the runic edifice.
"Just divide it equally," Cyren said after glancing at it twice. "Don't bring things like truffles, only bring at and bread. Ti is of the essence, we should depart."
Aldridge remained expressionless, but his tense back relaxed slightly in a corner no one noticed.
The wind and snow continued to blow rcilessly across the plains covered in accumulated snow. The corpse of the train lay prostrate on the earth. The leaked and flowing red rcury was like the python's blood. Several insignificant black dots trudged with difficulty through snow half a ter deep. Looking around, there was nothing but white.
The world was so silent that apart from the wind and snow, there was no sound. It was so strange it seed like being on so alien planet. The exiles could only hear their own heartbeats, beating in the abyss of loneliness.
"Where did all this snow co from?" Cyren sighed. His physical strength wasn't good to begin with, and the excessively deep snow was nearly exhausting him. "Did all the water from the four oceans pour in?"
This remark didn't elicit any response. Although concepts like the three states of water and the water cycle had already been proposed, they only circulated among nobility and intellectuals.
Matilda's eyes rolled around in a circle, and she said with a smile, "I heard that snow is a blanket bestowed by God. [Have you entered the storehouses of the snow, or have you seen the storehouses of the hail?]"
Cyren smiled and glanced at her, "This is taught in the simple education of Sunday school, right? Did you used to teach there?"
Matilda's eyes lit up, "That's right! The children there are all very cute and well-behaved. I was responsible for teaching the Scriptures, and I'd also teach the children to sing 'Jesus Loves This I Know.' But there were a few teachers I didn't like. They always hit the children. By the ti I taught my class, the children would be listless."
"Which sisterhood are you from?"
"Uh..." Matilda smiled. "What do you think?"
Cyren looked up at the sky and switched places with Aldridge at the front, pulling the sled forward with Matilda, one rope each, "The Sisters of Charity, right? Only they would promote you to abbess regardless of your age."
Matilda winked at Cyren, neither confirming nor denying.
At this ti they had barely walked just over two hundred ters, but it had already taken half an hour. At this pace, walking without sleep or rest would take over three days.
Cyren wiped away the overflowing sweat, but when he wiped, it had already turned into icicles.
The carpenter Sam suddenly reached out his hand, straining to point in a direction, "There... over..."
Cyren looked in the direction of his finger. It was a willow tree covered in accumulated snow.
"What is it?" he said.
"Could you help pick so willow branches?" Sam nervously licked his lips. This was his first ti speaking to such an important person. "I should be able to weave a pair of snowshoes."
Cyren's eyes lit up. He hurriedly went and broke off an armful of willow branches and picked up a few twigs along the way. Sam's hands moved nimbly, threading and weaving, then fashioning them into five pairs of snowshoes. Each was a willow branch shoe surface the size of four palms, with a rope on top that could be tied to shoes.
Several people tied them to their feet. The resistance brought by this huge shoe surface allowed them to no longer sink into the snow.
"This is really a great help!" Cyren reached out his hand, intending to pat Sam's shoulder, but Sam grabbed his hand and kissed the golden ring of authority.
Cyren trembled imperceptibly but said nothing, smiling and tracing a cross above Sam's head.
"This is what I should do," Sam said.
"Nothing is what one should do," Cyren said. "You could have remained silent, yet you used your abilities and skills to solve difficulties for us. Isn't that a virtue? 'Whatever your hand finds to do, do it with all your might' (Ecclesiastes 9:10). Isn't that a holy miracle?"
"I... I..." This honest carpenter was stunned speechless by Cyren's words. His hands trembled as he gripped Cyren's hands tightly, not even noticing he had squeezed the young bishop's pale hands until they were distorted.
Cyren patted his shoulder and continued to pull the cart, but this ti it was no longer one foot deep and one shallow.
Matilda said quietly, "I thought you would say sothing like 'Be careful not to practice your righteousness in front of others to be seen by them... do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing... your Father who sees in secret will reward you.'"
"I think this verse has another aning," Cyren said with a smile, turning his head to the side. "Do you know that Pope in Latin is read as [Papa]? Since the Pope is the Father, and has divided the responsibility of shepherding the lambs to , then I should be the one to reward those who do good. The aning of 'do not practice your righteousness in front of others' and 'do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing' is to tell us that people who do good are mostly obscure and very hidden, so we should open our eyes wide and observe carefully."
Matilda's eyes widened, "You're misinterpreting scripture! How co I rember when teaching our... students, we said that doing good should be done in obscurity, God knows and will reward you?"
Cyren spread his hands, "I graduated first in my class from the Theology Departnt of Florence University, and I have a pontifical scholarship. Would I deceive you? The most cutting-edge theological interpretation says exactly this."
Matilda thought for a long ti, then finally gave him a thumbs up. Cyren grinned and indicated he accepted it.
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