Dawnlark Plains ranger

he wanted nothing of it; the meat had spoiled, he had made sure of that with the herbs, the bloodletting. whatever the scavengers had done to the remains after his departure, perhaps there was a bone to be picked from the mound, but little else.

a survivor could make a meal out of anything. perhaps She hoped to find something like that—and he wondered, in the way a scientist might wonder, about the after-effects.
would this meal empower her with the dark virility of Sos?
this was not a gift to any other god.

he swayed, swaggered, drawing closer but not close enough to touch the work he had done. if She desired a meal, perhaps it was by His will.