Jo sits calmly on a cool slab of stone. The monastary is less than St. Peter's, but, she'd admit, it was dry and sheltered. A monk or two slowly go about their business and leave the intruders alone. For that, Jo was very grateful. She was exhausted enough without being pestered with questions. Once, she glanced over at Yanguru to see if the sudden flight from his father was taken as much of a toll on him as it was on her. It wasn't. She sighed and placed her head in her hands. Now they would wait.