We laid another one to rest today. Poor folk. Traveled all this way looking for respite, only to find ruins and scraps. This church won't hold, Helên said as much. The wind howls and forges new paths into our halls every night. Our roof has been torn apart by the storms, and we're too busy tending to the caravan's people to patch it up. Yet, we must stay. We are needed here, and will hardly find shelter elsewhere. Burying these vagabonds next to relics and artifacts feels wrong to me, but perhaps Helên is right. Maybe the old times must make way for new customs and rites.