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    “Joash,” said Mimir, jangling to a halt before him.
    “High One,” Joash said, with a small bow of the head.
    “How fares the wounded thigh?”
    “It’s sore, High One, but I’m able to walk.”
    “I’ve watched you limp along. You have trouble keeping up with the pack animals.”
    Joash remained silent.
    “Does the beating still rankle?”
    “No, High One.”
    “No?” Mimir asked, studying him closely.
    Joash shook his head.
    “No, I see it doesn’t. Good. You must learn to accept what a Nephilim gives you. It will be much easier on you if you do.”
    “Yes, High One.”
    “For instance, here is a better walking stick.”
    “High One?” Joash said, accepting the stout piece of wood. It was pine, with the bark peeled from it. It would be a useful club, and the knot on the end would let him hold it as he limped along. “Thank you, High One. It’s better than I had.”
    “It isn’t a gift so much as to make certain you don’t fall farther behind.”
    “I understand, High One.”
    “Walk with me.”
    Joash did, trying to hobble as fast as the giant’s slow strides. They walked out of earshot of the white-haired men—Joash refused to think of them as pack animals.
    “I’ve been considering your actions,” Mimir said. “How you refused to do my bidding earlier.”
    Joash kept quiet, for fear of gaining another beating.
    “You’re not a pack animal,” Mimir said. “Do you understand that?”
    Joash considered his words. “I don’t understand what it is you want me to understand, High One.”
    Mimir chuckled, a deep and ominous sound. “You’ve grown cautious. Good, your beating was useful. Listen. Wild men think up strange theories about themselves and their worth. I’d forgotten that wild men could be so insistent, even when in our hands. Tamed men are beasts of burden, pack animals, and sometimes they’re servants or even shield-bearers. We do our pack animals great service in letting them share in our glory. But, never must you make the mistake of thinking them as equal to you.”
    “Now I know I don’t understand, High One.”
    “Of course not, because you’ve been taught to think that man is as high as Nephilim. Isn’t that so?”
    Joash considered. People like Lord Uriah and Zillith feared Nephilim, and taught they were evil. Nephilim weren’t equal with humans. They were more vicious, cruel and farther from Elohim’s grace. In a way then, Nephilim were less, if stronger and deadlier. Joash wasn’t sure Mimir wanted to hear that.
    “Manling?”
    “High One, I’ll not lie. For I think you’re too wise for someone as young as I am to fool you. I’ve been taught that Nephilim are foes of the...of the one you refer to as the Overlord. Therefore, humanity and Nephilim are not thought of as the same.”
    Mimir tugged at his long beard. “Yes, I’d forgotten. Wild men think very highly of themselves. But you will soon learn, if you haven’t already, that men are less than Nephilim. The rankings are stark, and minutely graded. Nephilim tower above men. A half-Nephilim is higher than a man is, although not as exalted as a Nephilim. Do you understand?”
    “Yes, High One.”
    “Above Nephilim, is First Born, just as above them, is the bene elohim . But now, by careful consideration, I’ve come upon a new class.”
    Joash waited, as his wounded back throbbed. It was funny, but he didn’t notice the wounds while watching doves or wolves. Talking with Mimir made it worse, or maybe he just felt it worse then. Joash used his sleeve to wipe his brow, and concentrated on hobbling fast enough to keep up with Mimir’s long strides.
    “There is this strange class of people called Seraphs,” Mimir was saying. “I’ll use your own word at present. Depending on their ability, Seraphs are able to nullify certain magic. You have more of this ability than most Seraphs do. Thus, instead of classifying you as a mere man, I grant you the title, and higher status, of Seraph.