"Could you please, for once in your life, stop saying the dumbest shit I have ever heard?" Scarper says as Clay gnaws on horseflesh. "We're not done yet because I have to clean up your mess, not because we're going to Dora-the-Explorer our way to uncovering the king of the Banes. And if we were, you wouldn't be the one doing it, pup. It'd be me, because you didn't kill the Bane. I did." He 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 can still see the arrow wounds. 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, expecting you to miss them in the darkness, but you snag them out of midair. He snarls, but Clay just continues to gorge himself on the horse-thing.
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