He smiles and shakes his head."Never." I admit."Why?" He persists with the questions."I suppose I do not find death to my liking" I admit."But you are...in the winter lands. This is the dark half ofthe year. This is the realm of the Horned God. It is hisdark duty to live off the flesh of beasts. This is the landof the hunt. To hunt is not just to stalk, but to kill, andsurvive by killing. If that offends you, perhaps you shouldfind your way back to the green meadows of the realms ofthe Goddess,. I went with the abridged one, then asked her to enlighten me with her own story. She talked, I listened, and neither one of us remembered a single word. It was all a part of the game of breaking the ice between two dissimilar people.From the little I remember, it seems that Brandy was a marine biologist, out for the summer in pursuit of information on the habits of some aquatic creature with more Latin names than all the people listed in the white pages of a telephone book. She picked up the. More

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