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Ceremony was lacking although it felt important to watch the whole process . Nothing was wasted , each part of the animal had its place and would serve a need . How could something be killed just to be wasted ? I understood that survival and respect must always certainly go hand in hand .
Our guide , Boggi , laughed as the matriarch of the family suggested something . Words weren ’ t needed I understood the context and laughed as I pointed to my mouth whilst nodding my head . Sure , I would try what she was making as intestines were filled with a mix of flour , garlic , onion , and blood . This was simply the local version of ‘ blood sausage ’ or Black Pudding . She stared at me and laughed again yet not in mockery but more as a sign of respect and understanding .
A cold wind blew from the lake , and yet no one seemed to notice , the preparations were too important . The youngest of the family , a small boy , ran about with a stick between his legs , the whipping motion suggested he was riding a headstrong
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