Sidor stood on the upper tier of the Ridge Motel, outside a couple of rooms he had reserved for the evening, just to give the Clan a little space. He watched the handful of Kine below, his face hidden as he leant back in the alcove. The need to elect a Priscus had come yet again; and yet again, it had come because of a decision on his part. It had taken little time to clean Flores' ashes from the floor. It would take the rest of his Requiem to quench the blood of his family on his hands.
But it had been necessary. Necessary. For the Greater Good of the Clan, of the Covenant, of the Domain. The mantra he lived by in death as he had never lived by any mantra in life.
Ironic that it took eternal condemnation with no hope of reprieve to give me a conscience. Or perhaps simply a perfect form of that very condemnation.
He waited for the others, wanting to get this discussion over with. And also, preferably, avoid any unpleasantness.