Later that night, when all the children had fallen asleep, Father Finnick quietly left his room in the northern wing.
He walked through the dining hall and made his way to the room at the back of the chapel. He knocked gently on the door.
It had been a long day of entertaining sponsors and visitors and Father Phil might already be asleep. Lately, he had seemed more and more frail. Finnick was getting worried about him.
"Is that you, Finnick?" came a hoarse voice from inside.
"Yes. I'm sorry to bother you so late. May I talk with you for a bit?"
"Come in."
Father Phil's room was simple, just a little bigger than Finnick's own. The bed and sheets looked worn out, just like their owner.
Phil had thrown on a robe and was sitting at an old desk, where he seemed to be writing down the day's notes.
Finnick gathered some leftover candles from the chapel and added them to the candleholder. The stubs were uneven and bent, but still usable. He pushed the flickering light toward where he would sit.
The weak glow gently lit up the aged, dark room. Phil stared at the small flame and with his tired eyes he finally spoke, "Is this about Judy and Bao Bei?"
"Yes," Finnick answered softly.
As expected, Father Phil had noticed what happened that day. He let out a deep, long sigh.
"It might no longer be safe to keep Judy and Bao Bei here," he said slowly.
"Yes," Father Finnick replied. "Judy seems deeply shaken by what happened. And this church often receives visits from wealthy rabbit-eared donors."
"The Lapinelle family is a powerful name in this region. There's not much we can do."
Even though this rural area was poor and had many people with dull-colored fur, which made the color-based discrimination less harsh than in cities, it still existed. Sadly, not even the church—where kindness and fairness should be shown to everyone—was free from that kind of thinking.
Even here, inside this very church, those ideas were still alive.
No matter how many times the priests spoke against it, no matter how hard they tried to guide the people, the idea that fur color decided a person's worth still lurked underneath the surface, deep in people's hearts.
All just because someone's fur wasn't bright or beautiful.
"And about Mr. Horangi…" Finnick added, bringing up another concern. "That merchant won't give up on Bao Bei. He backed off this time, but it's going to be much harder to refuse him next time."
The old priest's expression grew more troubled as Finnick spoke.
"Bao Bei's unusual fur color is exactly the kind of thing that makes collectors and rich eccentrics hungry. That man is planning to sell him at a high price to one of those twisted people."
Finnick's anger began to rise and his voice took on a bitter edge. After all, he had personally cared for Bao Bei since the boy arrived. To him, Bao Bei felt like a son.
"Father," Finnick said, almost pleading, "isn't there any way we can protect Bao Bei and Judy? Can't we save them?"
Father Phil turned his eyes back to his desk and nodded his head slowly.
"I'll try writing some letters," he said. "If we reach out through the right people and connections… maybe, just maybe, we can find a way."