Wapun Meadow don't you bleed out an apology, you'll always be a liar to me

Svalinn was hypnotized by the serpent's display before him. Caiaphas' pose was in such a way that the black of her head obscured most of his view and her loom took on a frightening disembodied quality as he lay transfixed by her stare. The glow of lanterns he normally felt safe and guarded beneath had suddenly turned bright, and sinister, and searing. It was like looking at acid and imagining it pouring over you; Svalinn could only shudder in response to her unspoken demand.

It was the first time he felt that she was something more than his mother. This creature -- loving and terrible, who gave life as easily as she took it -- was God. It was concept he might never come to know personally, but he felt it right then and there: the age old instinct that tells an animal when they have met more than their match. It was a power that left him stricken and cowering -- submitting -- and in one feeble lift of his hide leg to (inexplicably to him) show her his belly, he found that leg clamped upon painfully as he was up and plucked like a tart, wriggling berry.

Hurt and turned dangling into a proverbial Christmas bell, the golden-headed bastard jiggled, jingled, and whined the whole way back.