The Magpie. That seems to fit on a couple different levels. The birdlike sound, the talons, the black and white feathers. Maybe that's why the sacrifices, Cricket thinks. Because Magpies collect shiny things, don't they?

He's not sure he's all that shiny. He's here, though, and he can be polite, even if his heart is racing now. The bird-god is huge.

Cricket follows him, either way, making no move to run or to touch anything without being invited. The light is dim, but it gives him a better look at the Magpie's silhouette. He wonders if it's uncomfortable, to be bent over like that. "S-sorry if I'm a little slow," he says after a moment, a little out of breath from following. "I got weak legs and they wouldn't let me keep the braces. I hope you don't mind. I had to argue with 'em that none of the rules said the sacrifice had to be perfect. Don't even say it's got to be a virgin, so I figured you ain't as picky as they think you are."