I would turn my face to the south,
For the wind crowds my nostrils with the odours of dead things.
SECOND GOD
It is the scent of burnt flesh, sweet and bountiful.
I would breathe it.
FIRST GOD
It is the odour of mortality parching upon its own faint flame.
Heavily does it hang upon the air,
And like foul breath of the pit
It offends my senses.
I would turn my face to the scentless north.
