The kids here tug at his heartstrings, every one of them. They're what he fights for, what he's working towards, what he's protecting, and he's here so rarely that they barely even know who he is.

They do know, though, and they even feel some kind of affection for him, the priest who brings them food and toys and stays a little while before riding off again into the desert.

If he could stay here, just here, he thinks he could be happy.

Michael's request isn't so odd: perhaps he's found something here, as well. It's not for Wolfwood to question, so he nods, breathes in smoke and breathes it out again.

"Go ahead."