Snake, I’ve always wanted to try snake. My grandmother told me once of a stew that used it, how the venom gave a spicy little kick when you chowed down on the meat. Yet, I cannot find a single snake in the desert, no matter how hard I try.
I know they’re here. I’ve seen their tracks. I’ve discovered the remains of their kills. I’ve even seen the bite marks on the ankles of foolish garou who slept out in the sands. They’re real, they’re just hiding away from us, as if scared of something.
There is this old legend about snakes. I heard it from my father, who heard it from his mother, who heard it from, well, you know how all of this goes. The story goes that the desert once teemed with snakes. You couldn’t move for fear of fangs in your sandals when you weren’t looking. Poison killed more of us than anything else. It was a dark time for the clan.
Then, she came. The moon goddess, who moved like river water. She danced and danced, and the snakes danced with her. With each undulation, the snakes dug themselves into the sand, their writhing movements burying them deep. When the dance was done, the snakes had vanished beneath the dunes, never to threaten the people again.
It’s a nice story; I’ve always liked it.
Oh, but anyway, where was I? Ah yes, the recipe for the perfect cactus stew, all you need is…
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