The comfort (and limitations) of ritual prayer
I belatedly got into Game of Thrones, having initially dismissed it as a Lord of the Rings wannabe - I really must learn to be more open-minded. One recurring character is The Hound - a massive (though not as massive as his big brother, The Mountain), brutal, vulgar warrior whose casual disdain for other people is as blatant as the obscenities that spew from his mouth. His story arc, however, seems to be taking him through something of a spiritual awakening. At the beginning of series 7, he and a small group come across a deserted cottage and inside are the remains of a father and daughter who had killed themselves rather than starve to death in the fast-approaching winter. What made it all the more poignant for The Hound is that he had, in an earlier programme, visited his own brand of cruelty on their already wretched lives. And now he felt the nagging discomfort of guilt. So much so that, in the middle of the night, he got up to bury their remains. After the bodies had been