Irony was at its finest when Beck, the spirit allegedly condemned by the Devil himself, failed to believe in religion. Considering the time and age he was raised in, doubled by rubbing elbows with higher beings, it was almost ridiculous how he turned his nose up at the very inference of a God. But over his years of haunting, second-hand observation, and staring at television screens, he discovered the wonders of science and its own pantheon of humans. Bill and Neil, if he could remember names correctly. They were much more persuasive than a God that refused to save him from an existence of limbo. Yet some creatures devoted their whole lives to their divine dictators, and the boy couldn't grasp why.

    Nayru certainly had captured his attention, simply by going about her usual routine. It was all so foreign to the executed heretic, praying and speaking as if deities would listen to your every whim. But who was he to judge? Holding his tongue, Beck admired the bizarre scene from the shadowed brambles, content to question to himself why Nayru was wading in an algae-stained pond and begging to the high heavens. At her last mumble, his lantern-like glare narrowed, and his broken wheeze wasted no time on interrupting: "Who says you're doin' anythin' wrong?" Soon enough, the poltergeist slipped from his bramble thicket and warily stood on the pond's muddy bank, paws failing to leave imprints in the boggy ground despite seemingly being caked with sludge. His sharp words were a genuine question, yet he collapsed into silence once more when Bella and Amunet arrived -- the two frequently at the scene, as usual. Glancing upwards at the taller females and flicking his notched ear in mute acknowledgement, he flopped onto his haunches in the mud, amber eyes still unblinkingly watching as ever.