Hoshor Plains Held his heart in his hand, and ate of it.

the vulture didn't leave. its circling continued. if he cared to watch it, the bird would go counter-clockwise as if to count down the minutes. it was a gamble to wait for something to die. the walking corpse of a man had died plenty of times by now, but it never did stick.

he didn't question it any longer. heksvarrim; that's what the northerners called him - they saw the curses set in to his body, etched there in his face, his throat, his body; a triumvirate of curses set upon him with the dying of a galaxy. he was touched.

heksvarrim was alone now and had nothing - nobody, except the constant presence of that vulture.

when he finally could step no further the man stopped, and this was in time for the vulture to sweep up behind him, casting a slanting shadow over his shoulders - black-winged, until it wheeled away for another round.