It was not necessary to go looking for the miller. When word of the manticore's death reached him, he came to the church on his own.
By this time, as many of the villagers as could be spared from planting had come to see, and touch, the dead creature. They marvelled at its horrible teeth and, as always it seems to fall, whispered that it had seemed so much larger in life. It became obvious that the farmers of Kell's Reach had not really expected the party to slay this creature. They had seen so-called adventurers before, and few were true heroes. Most were louts who waved swords, seduced farmers' daughters, then made off with whatever wasn't firmly tied down.
The miller arrived a humbled man.
He approached the church, but still did not set foot on its soil. Instead, he dropped to his knees, hands held before him.
"I beg pardon," the miller said. "As I love this place, I thank you for its deliverance." He paused. He coughed, almost a choke, eyes blinking rapidly. "I was willing to die to give the others a chance to shoot it. That creature." He indicated the manticore with a nod of his head. "You have revenged my son. I...I am willing...kill me if that is what it will take to end this affair."