At the back of the valley Francis waited silently, saying nothing, thinking nothing.

The slow column of people, headed by a monk apprenticed to Francis, inched along, barely moving if not studied closely. They all were thinking about Saint Francis, their leader of the ruling religious group of Catholics. Always a pious man, Francis had led their village through times of war, famine, and poverty, all with a peaceful demeanor. None wanted to admit that they missed him, for his last wish was to carry on and always be strong. For so long the village had depended upon Francis for support and advice; never had they been without a leader.

Dirty, tear streaked faces of children dotted the crowd, and fathers choked back tears to appear strong. The column was almost at the cave-dark and looming. This was it, a final goodbye to Saint Francis, the last time anyone would ever step foot in his tomb again. On this final visit, the villagers decided to seal the tomb, and forever keep Francis safe from harm physically, for before Francis had left the villagers, he had taught them the way of God. The villagers knew that Francis was in heaven where he would be forever spiritually safe.

With no leader and no one wanting to fill the gap where Francis left off, not even his apprentice, the village was about to fall into shambles. Crime came to the village and with it; a wave of pain that the villagers felt in their hearts, Francis could have stopped dead in its tracks. Thieves roamed the hills outside the village, and bandits attacked the village daily. Cutthroats and corrupt soldiers looking for fun killed people often. The villagers tried to remember Saint Francis and how he died unprovoked, keeping his true word of the sermon.

Before the crime was at the village, Francis was preaching at the local church, a sermon that all the villagers remember all to well. “So, when faced with the challenge of fighting, or talking, choose to talk. Settle your differences peacefully, never let anyone step on you,” Saint Francis talked loudly at the altar. Attentive as always, the villagers absorbed every word, clinging on to them like a motto.

The hours after church were always the busiest in the church; Francis was bombarded with questions and scenarios with what to do in them. Every reply was nearly the same, yet different to each person in the village. The questions had stopped and Saint Francis went to his private quarters to bathe and think of new sermons. A young man followed Francis in by the name of Anthony, seeking to be his apprentice so that he too could have the glory of being a saint. The teaching had begun right away and lasted late into the evening. The boy was spent and fell asleep in the middle of Francis’ room not awakened by anything.