Raphael said to his consort, his voice low enough that it would reach only her. Her eyes narrowed. “They’re good at it,” she replied at the same volume. “I didn’t hear or glimpse them until they wanted to be noticed.” She brushed her wing over his, the barest contact to slide under the radar of those who might be watching. I don’t know what these Luminata have convinced angelkind is their purpose and aim, but they move like they have combat training. “I’m starting to think they’re more warrior monks than philosophers on the road to enlightenment.” Raphael had to agree with her now that he’d seen the way the Luminata moved, the grace in their bodies, the contained strength beneath the pale, golden brown robes that covered them neck to toe. Including over their wings. That was extraordinary—no angel liked his wings confined. However, when a light wind lifted the hem of one of the robes, he saw that the robe was in three sections at the back.
