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Having dropped the knife, Durgan dashed out of the cabin, and almost ran over another old lady who got in his way. Her screams, as she realized that she had been smeared with blood and discovered the body in the hut, blended with the babies, and Durgan now ran for his life, his throat aching for air. He hoped that the thugs wouldn't care, but a few of them gave chase. Not much of a sprinter, Durgan turned into a side alley, and hoisted himself over a wooden fence, into what looked like a closed off dog pen, and over the fence on the other side, the dogs snapping after his legs. He then slowed down in order to not attract more attention to himself, trying to find his way to the safety of the brothel. Even familiar streets seemed less inviting now, their inhabitants staring at him as if they knew that the dark stains on his tunic were from a murder. He felt naked and rejected, his very soul unclean with guilt.

The prostitutes didn't ask about the stains. He just went straight to his room, where the goddess awaited his return, then threw the shirt into a corner, before he could allow himself to break down.
"You did well.", his goddess assured him softly. "Why the vailing and the tears? Didn't she get what she wished for?"
Durgan wrapped the bedsheets around him, to guard himself from the shame, and just lay there shaking. He wanted to die. That's what he had been taught that those who murdered innocents deserved.
"You know I wouldn't let you kill yourself.", the goddess said, stroking his hair. "I never said that being chosen would be a painless process. On the contrary, change is painful, and this transformation will make you capable of enduring your place amongst the hell fire."

Somewhere, out in the streets, he could still hear the old woman that he had run into, screaming from the top of her lungs, screaming out to the world what he had done.