Swiftcurrent Creek dissect me with this blunt little tool

Lecter did not speak to Tyrande, merely located an oakleaf that was not covered in dew and set it at her paws. "Hold still." Locating the bared patch of skin from where he had plucked her fur, Lecter lashed out carefully, lacerating the flesh just deeply enough to bring dark crimson droplets welling to the surface.

Grasping the stem of the leaf, Lecter held it to the woman's shoulder, catching the rivulets as they ran. Quickly did the blood dry, but the shaman had taken that which he wanted, and moved away from Tyrande with a contented chuff.

"You have done well here," he observed. "It was a good thing that I decided to spare you, though I had considered offering you to my God." A quizzical tip of the head; "do you yourself have gods?"