Hope stopped walking, wondering if he had heard wrong.
Old Whateley had already climbed into the wagon. "What, scared?"
"Are you joking?" Hope asked.
"Of course not."
"He... came back to life?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
Old Whateley waved Hope over, urging him to climb aboard. They were heading down the mountain.
Hope saw the two cows standing perfectly still, their eyes tightly shut, as if they were dead.
When the King of Kings' apparition descended, no one had thought to lead them away. They had probably been terrified.
But Old Whateley waved his hand in front of them, and they opened their eyes again.
"Brothers can't kill each other," Old Whateley said.
Once Hope was seated in the wagon bed where the firewood had been, the two cows slowly began to move. Old Whateley continued:
"The King of Kings ordained this fate long ago: Wilbur and Hope would never die at each other's hands."
Hope swallowed. "But Wilbur didn't even have a body..."
"The body isn't important. The soul is all that matters. You saw for yourself—the Night Hawks couldn't take his soul."
The Night Hawks had left in disappointment... They had gathered around Wilbur for his soul, and left disappointed when they couldn't claim it.
Another thought came to Hope:
Gods were far more distant from humanity than humans were from ants. The King of Kings could dictate anyone's life at will. If He forbade something, it simply would not happen.
He had forbidden Hope from killing Wilbur, so even if Hope did it, Wilbur would come back to life.
It made perfect sense in this world.
"What's the relationship between the Night Hawks and the King of Kings?" Hope asked. "They gathered in front of the altar... Was that an altar?"
Old Whateley nodded. "It's an altar of the