Stealing From the Temple of the Dog

The proverb engraved at the tomb’s entrance read:

Thou shan’t mind stealing bread

from the mouths of decadents.

Hmm, Cris had thought, his curiosity thoroughly set ablaze.

The Temple of the Dog was taking far too long to explore. Even half-buried in sand, the massive limestone structure still loomed five stories above the desert floor. It was the tallest landmark for several hundred miles in all directions.

Hmph, Cris sighed.

“Well… I am goin’ hungry,” Eddy said.

“Mhmm, same,” Cris agreed, scanning the empty horizon.

Eddy nudged him with his elbow. “I mean… it’s on the table.”

“And the fire is cookin’.” Cris’s voice pitched up.

“I heard they’re farming babies too!” Eddy said a little too loudly.

“Yeah!” Cris was riled up, too, now. “While their slaves are all workin’!” He could feel his blood boiling beneath his skin.

“Fuck these assholes.”

“Yeah, fuck ‘em.”

“We’re taking their fucking food.” They locked eyes for a brief shared nod, then turned back to the loaf of bread on the table.

“We’re really gonna, huh?”

“I don’t mind,” Eddy said, meeting Cris’s eyes again. “Do you?”

“Uh, no, not at all,” Cris said, smiling wolfishly. “No, I don’t mind stealin’ bread.”