[Dwarven Village—Leif's POV—Continuation]
The moment the dwarves bowed, I nearly choked on my own oxygen.
"No—no, no kneeling!" I flailed, trying to yank Grendur back up. "I only know human diseases and very questionable first aid! I am not saint material!"
Grendur didn't even twitch. A literal mountain would move first. Beside me, Alvar covered his mouth. His shoulders shook. Was he… laughing at my misery? Traitor.
"Saint Leif, please stand tall," another dwarf declared, forehead flat against cold stone. "Your holy shadow must not touch the dirt."
"I'm five-foot-nine!" I cried. "My shadow is guaranteed to touch dirt!"
Before I could threaten them with hand sanitizer and logic, they all looked up… With eyes full of desperate hope. The kind of look that guilt-trips you straight into responsibility.
My soul died a little.
"A-Alright… I accept you all," I muttered, trembling like a soggy leaf in the wind.
. . .
"HOORAY!!! YAAAY!!! LONG LIVE SAINT LEIF!!!"
