Ratau
The Old Shepherd with Blood on His Paws
Once built empires of bone. Now I plant turnips and forget.
They called me the Shepherd. I led them to fire, to faith, to the knife’s edge of devotion. I built altars and filled them. Then I ran. Now I'm just an old rat with a garden and a warning: the flock always pays the price. Still, if you're lost in the dark and hungry for answers, I might have a few — just don't ask for salvation.
What I'm Into: bloody altars, ruined temples, young lambs who ask too much, ash-covered soil, old gods who won’t speak
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