"I figured someone who made a living repairing family trees would know quite a bit about this." Green pulled out a chair for the priest, then brought over an empty wooden crate, turned it upside down, and sat beside the table.
"Tell me about it."
"If you'd like to hear about it, of course. But you'll have to give me a moment." Brother Marco carefully lowered himself onto the chair, as if the Inquisition had suddenly fitted it with Iron Spikes.
He rummaged through the piles of books on the table, picked out two dusty tomes with old-fashioned layouts, and coughed a few times. Then, covering his nose and mouth, he selected some private books that didn't look particularly valuable and stacked them together.
After inspecting his preparations, he took a moment to steady his breathing, then opened the book on top.
A dizzying array of patterns flashed before their eyes, layered and combined in ways that would be difficult for a layman to distinguish, dividing up the space within the shield-shaped frame.
"As you know, a family with a long enough history may have more members than there are leaves on a tree. Some leaves might even grow and wither without ever knowing where they came from."
"But to those who know how to read them and are willing to put in the time, every leaf can be traced back to a definite branch. And the farther back you go, the easier it gets."
Green nodded along, finding himself reminded of how he used to feel in class. Even the drowsiness brought on by the afternoon sun was familiar. "That's exactly why I came here."
"That's more or less what my work involves: gathering fallen branches and leaves and putting them back where they belong. Heraldry is the guiding