Rasav, last warning. Quit pissin’ outside the latrine. Reeks bad enough for us, but you know how it riles the snaky bastards. No chance we’re finding that ritual tome without ‘em. If you ruin it now, after we’ve slogged all over Sanctuary and back, all ‘cause you couldn’t be bothered to step outside, well. The tribe will want answers.
Think of the morrow. Untold power, bountiful flesh. We’ll crush every other clan in the Steppes. We can have it all—or I can kill you. You choose.
Elshir