Get to know each other

The priest looks up to you, his head still nestled in your bosom. "What do you want," A good question. You wanted to get out of the foot hills, grow stronger and generally become more of a serious monster rather than hero fodder. That's more or less accomplished at this point. You could grow stronger, but you hardly loathe your current self the way you once did. You'll have to think on where to go from here, but for now, you're content. "with me?" Oh, you suppose that's also a good question.

You smile at the boy and pet the back of his neck. "You're new to adventure, right?" You wait for a reply, but he only looks down, before realizing he's burying his face in your breasts and backs away. "Tell me, have you ever fought a monster."

"Yes," He'd rather not expand on this, but your expectant gaze pushes him onward, "I cleared a cellar of rats."

You laugh, enjoying the matured sound of your voice, "Oh, I'm sure the bards clamor to compose epic ballads of the rodent slaying priest!"

"No,"

"No? Then I'll be the first: There once was a priest named..." You snap at the boy for assistance.

"...It's Tom"

"Named Thomas the brave"
"Tomwell"
"Named Tomwell the brave
Equipped with white collar and goddess' stave
He came to an inn-"
"It wasn't an inn-"
"He came to an inn, met the innkeeper's wife
Who furrowed her brow in worry and fright
She told of wee beasties with teeth made of gold
That plague ridden rats-"
"They weren't plague rats-"
"That flea ridden rats conferred down below
Tomwell descended the stairs of the inn,
Saw only their teeth and their eyes in the dim"
"That's not a noun."
"It's a first draft; I think I'm doing rather well for my first ballad. Now then,
They lunged into torchlight while gnashing their teeth
Scurrying fast on their wee rodent feet
Tom lifted his staff, hit them each on the head
they fell to the dirt, each one of them dead!"
Tom makes a low groan.
"What?"

You ask again, "What's wrong this time?"

"That's not how it happened."

"What, you did it some other way? It's poetic license; let's just say it was the head."

"It didn't happen that way."

You sigh, "What does it matter? The rats die, you're the hero."

"They didn't die."

"Sorry?"

"I chased them off, with a broom."

"Don't laugh about it!" Really, how could he think you wouldn't? "I got them out; I finished the quest!"

"Of course, Hero. My, how cruel you are, making those poor rats live in fear!"

"It's not funny! I'm supposed to be a healer; I didn't get into this to kill things!"

"They respawn! Everything respawns!"

"But they still die; I can't imagine anything would appreciate dying."

Tom's starting to get hysterical, so you usher him back into your embrace. He struggles at first, but soon he melts into your bosom.

"Sorry, Tom, I didn't mean you were wrong. I like the way you think, and it isn't nice dying. But that's not the sort of thinking an adventurer should have; I don't think you'd be good at it." He sinks at your words, and you cuddle him closer in comfort. "It's okay; you don't have to be an adventurer. Like I said, I like you better this way."

"Who are you anyway? You never gave your name."

"Arke."