When they set off again, half of the party remained behind to “process” the dead bodies.

“My father used to say that wastefulness was the greatest sin, but your minions take that sentiment too far,” Shrike whispered, shaken by their ruthless efficiency.

Dargoth somehow heard her. “What else are you supposed to do with perfectly good meat? Let it rot?”

Shrike ignored the irascible pseudo dragon and called out to the humans still with them, “And what about you? Were you not bothered by the sight of fellow humans being butchered like animals?”

“Neanderthals are not human,” a man said only half-jokingly. His comment nearly sparked a fight between his kin and the neanders.

“I don’t really care what happens to the bodies, long as it doesn’t end up on my plate,” Bludd replied once he got his men back in line. “Like general Dargoth said, if our own beasts don’t eat them something will.”

“How do you handle the remains of your own fallen?”

“Same way mostly. Course, if someone close dies, we might keep a lock of hair or a bone as a keepsake. Why? What do you do when one of your mates kicks the bucket?”

“We prefer to cremate them. Burials are done if that is not possible.”

“Bury them? That sounds like a lot of work. Why would you do that?”

“Out of respect, of course.”

“I think I’d rather get eaten by a kasai than get nibbled on by crawlies. You mentioned something called cremation? What’s that?”

“It’s a type of funeral where you burn them until only ash is left.”

“Oh. We do that too when we're afraid there’ll be an outbreak or something. Usually, just easier to leave it up to the beasts. Do you show that same kind of respect to your enemies too?”

“My people try to bury any neanderthals they dispatch,” she said, neglecting to mention what they did to dobuwanas.

“Your people certainly have peculiar ideas.” Bludd dropped back from the vanguard, opting to rejoin his fellow mercenaries.

“About time you returned to the squad. Worried you went zealot for a second there,” his second in command joked.

“Was just picking the lizard woman’s brain,” he shook his head. “She’s a soft girl.”

“I bet she’s got a soft ass.”

Bludd blanched. Although he was one of the few mercenaries that saw no distinction between his kind and neanderthals, he refused to acknowledge zeraphs as humans. “She has a tail, Donovan.”

“So? Just makes her more exotic.”

“I swear you’re as bad as Zhulong.”

The neander snorted. “I ain’t that bad. Ain’t boinking a girl that doesn’t at least have a set of legs and juicy thighs. Speaking of Zhulong and softness, don’t you think he’s changed a bit?”

Bludd nodded. “Aye, he would have never let so many uppity tribals just run off. I think the ziggurat did something to his brain when it brought us here. Whatever it is, I hope it sticks.”

“I dunno. Don't you think he’s gotten a bit too soft? I heard he left a slave alone after it got caught bad-mouthing him.”

“Hmm. That could lead to another rebellion if the slaves and the other mercs think he’s gotten weak, but that might not be a bad thing. Fewer slaves and mercenaries means less food and pay we got to share. We’d stand to benefit, as long as none of the boys are dumb enough to join in. The blackbloods have always given us humans special treatment. Things should get only get better for us if Zhulong’s lost some of his edge.”

Another squabble broke amongst the humanoids further down the ranks. Bludd sighed and steered his beishanlong towards the commotion. Donovan scowled once his leader was out of hearing range. “Humans get special treatment, huh?” he muttered to himself. “More like sapiens do.”

A woman—the only one amongst the mercenaries—wheeled her beishanlong besides Flufflepuffle. Her smaller mount looked like a chick next to the gigagalli.

“Hey boss, do you mind if I talk to your lady friend?”

“Not sure if Shrikey here considers me her friend. Whatever the case, you don’t need to ask me for permission to talk to her.”

The woman flashed Shrike a snaggle-toothed grin.

“Hullo, the name is Onion. Your Shrike right?”

“That’s right. What do you want?”

“Just a chat. Sick of hearing the lads blither on about how much they want to get their dicks wet. Don’t get many chances to talk to other girls. They ain’t many fighting women in the coalition. At least not human ones anyway.”

“Oh,” Shrike said ruefully, unused to being approached so casually. She embarrassed herself again when she immediately blurted, “So, why do they call you Onion?”

“Why do they call you Shrike?”

“Because that’s my name.”

“Well, there you go. Same story.”

“Your parents named you Onion?”

“Never had any, as far as I know. I’m an amnesiac.”

“A what?”

Onion was just as surprised as Shrike. “You know, somebody that has no memories. Surely you met at least one?”

“No, I haven’t. I’ve never even heard of that before.”

“Strange. I’d say one out of every ten people in the coalition is an amnesiac. We was told this place was different, but damn.”

“How did you lose your memories?”

“Don’t think I had any to begin with. Far as I know, I sprouted out of an onion patch a full grown woman.”

Shrike rolled her eyes. “Why would you even bother making up such an obvious lie?”

“Hey! I ain’t no liar! Ask the others. My story ain’t even that strange.”

“She was a lucky find,” a scarred man interjected. “Perishing rare for a full-blooded proper human to sprout on Tannin. It’s just too bad she looks like a rat.”

Onion bared her beaver-like fangs. “Piss off, old man! Bet you never slept with anyone half as pretty as me!”

“At least, not without having to tie them up or pin them down!” Donovan jeered further back. His taunt provoked another squabble.

Shrike grimaced. “Why did you bring these marauders with you?” she whispered in Zhu’s ear.

Zhu shrugged. “Thought your homies would be more comfortable around other people. Might have been a mistake, but don’t sweat it. I’ll keep them in line. At least listening in on them was educational.”