Damses strode to a place just shy of the agitated crowd, his calm demeanor forming a stark contrast to the turmoil around him. As he paused, his eyes swept over the gathering, and one by one, the tribesmen bowed their heads, a silent admission of their conflicted spirits.
Yet amidst the shame and hesitation, a bold voice rose. Labu, the blacksmith who had celebrated his wedding only ten days prior, shouldered his way through the crowd, stepping forward with a deferential bow.
"Priest," Labu began, his voice fervent with desperation, "I implore you."
"Grant us permission to embrace the faith of the omnipotent God!"
"The black spot disease spreads unchecked beyond our oasis. The desert offers us no refuge from its reach. If we abandon the afflicted, it's only a matter of time before we all succumb. Why then should we not seek solace in the deity who promises a cure?" His words hung heavy in the air, a poignant blend of fear and hope.