“There is always time to panic, later.” Another favorite lesson of my master. I methodically investigated the remains, only managing to dig out a heavy wooden cross half buried among cinders. This cross had been burned but not by this fire.

I thrust the christian symbol into my coat pocket at an awkward angle, leaving the top heavy crux swinging away from my body as I hurried away from the charred ruin. I knew where I was headed, making my way silently down the lane in the faint pre-dawn light. I made no sound, careful to leave no impression at all on the nascent morning.
I quickly found the stone path leading to the rear of a green and white victorian. It was a very familiar path, but today I would enjoy its respite instead of its indulgences. I easily slipped through the entryway and down into its cellar, and in preparing for the day’s rest, pulled out the cross and clutched it in both hands. The torching had been a signal, but this, was a message.