Otter Creek the good, the bad, and the dirty

She snorts, biting back the sharpest of the words that spring to the tip of her tongue — for @Eleni's sake, if nothing else. And how do you propose we do that? She tries to keep the fire from her tone, though it still flickers in her eyes. The effort is rendered moot with her next words, however, venomous as they are: Are your gods the generous sort, Eastwood? Do they reward such noble conduct? Perhaps they'll descend from the heavens and fill your belly with divine providence. I prefer the taste of meat, myself, and my gods would agree. She pauses only a breath before another thought strikes her.
Or perhaps it isn't about gods at all. Would you sooner die with your sense of superiority than dirty your paws a bit in the name of survival? Would you watch us all starve so that you can tell yourself you're better than the rest of us savages? She turns away from him, away from the meat. She'd thought Eastwood sensible, but this — this is an ignorance she cannot abide. You wouldn't be. You would only be dead. Dead — what good is honor to a dead man, Eastwood? Her gaze flits back to him briefly, almost imploring, but the look is gone as quickly as it'd come. She will not beg him to see her perspective, no matter how badly she wants him to.