Black Tarn howls with delight at that. Then her luminous eyes fix on you.
"Will you kill many of them, little champion?" she asks as Clay gorges on horseflesh. "Will you drag them from their warm beds, still wrapped in their pajamas, and slay them for Gaia? You couldn't even kill the Bane; Scarper had to do it."
To emphasize his packmate's words, Scarper gestures with his knife across his hairy throat.
You sputter. Where to begin? The "Bane" was the horse Clay is feeding on right now, not the man. The man was already dead—you're sure you killed him. You finished them both without help, even though the others were supposed to back you up, were supposed to…
What would be the point of arguing? You look from Clay's blood-smeared face to Scarper's gleeful smirk to Black Tarn's hard, mad glare, and know that you will find neither mercy nor fairness here. This pack is faithless and treacherous, consumed by old grudges. The Litany is just a weapon to them. You will win no arguments here, nor find any Honor among these cruel old wolves.
"Get back to the van," Scarper tells you. "Get yourself cleaned up. You look like shit. We're going to have to clean up your mess." He flings the keys at you, and you drop them in the darkness. You dig them out of the snow and pick them up in your teeth. Scarper and Black Tarn chuckle as you fumble around, while Clay continues to gorge himself on the horse-thing.
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