Loot

Poisonous dung





He went through the bird corpses, feeling the heat rising from him after the fight. Always a good feeling. Victory, putting down the opponent, knowing he was better than they no matter how hard they tried to bring him down. The feeling was intoxicating.

Cas wove through the piled, wrecked birds, shifting them aside in search of collectible loot. The whole place stank of them and their rancid dung. He hated it. But when he came across one that had some viable dung left to pocket, he knelt to scoop it up into a little container and tucked it with a grimace into his coat. If he never had to use that, all the better.

Then, straightening up, he turned back to his fellows in arms and sheathed his sword. Another fight well won. It gave him hope that this debacle would soon come to an end.



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