The goddess turned, restless in her slumber as warm blood soaked the cold, dark soil. The affairs of men, best left to the crows.
Something sharp, insistent. A sacrifice, the battle hanging in the balance. A child. Children grew into adults no less unworthy than their parents. But a sacrifice in her name?
It would be rude not to.
Wings black and terrible she rose, drawing blood from both armies, from living and dead, quenching ancient hunger.
Sated, the goddess slept again beneath her silent battlefield. For how long, none could say. But she knew there would be other wars.