The ritual is fairly simple, all things told, and in a few minutes, it's done, the smell of the recently killed boar filling his nostrils, the slow breath of the wind through the trees, the heat of the late afternoon sun, beating down through the canopy of trees...<br/><br/>"You called me," a voice said, from behind him, even and cool; not a question, a statement, with an air of precision... and the sensation that the speaker could have just as easily killed him, as spoken.