“Tell me,” Temmins said, trying for understanding and caring. “Tell me what you know of battle.”

“Not battle really,” the man said. “I shouldn’t have said that. This sound is more like slaughter.”

“Slaughter?” Temmins tried brushing off the word, tried holding to ignorance, tried forgetting its meaning, and yet something gnawed at him, deep down. Perhaps truth.

“Yes, slaughter. These noises. They are more slaughter than battle.”

“What do you mean?” Temmins said, stepping closer, needing to know the answer to his questions more than any other questions he had ever asked any other victim, subject, patient of his.