Swiftcurrent Creek your heart [m]

“”

She approached, but he could not look upon her; he did not want to see the marks that Sos had placed upon his daughter using the shaman's own body. Clarice questioned with the innocence of the mad, and Lecter's ears flattened momentarily. “I do not know,” he answered falteringly, “but you must meditate on His...blessing,” he instructed, icewater eyes staring unseeing into the distance.

“Now I shall sleep, my child,” Lecter murmured gently, a wave of black guilt and exhaustion overcoming him heavily; he sat in the snow, then stretched out his length prostrate against it, still unable to look into the beautiful, inquisitive face of his child. “Leave me now, or sleep here, or do what you will.”