Sandor stands back, observing the false piety in the funeral service. Would Zeddicus have received even this, if I had not begun to honour the dead? he wonders.
The pile of possessions sits there untouched. Sandor was serious about the hypocrisy of these mammals--on what basis they can condemn him, and yet, like ghouls or fantsy adventurers, profit financially from his death...
Abel has the audacity to call this "the right thing"; in the hours since I last spoke, no one has even acknowledged my words, the fact that Zeddicus had a family, and that their lives might be made immeasurably easier with the wealth of their son. No, that would mean work, mundane work, for this group. And less profit.
So parochial, repulsed by anything that does not behave human.
Sandor smells the rot within the cairn, standing watch while the time passes. This is a waste of time. Do they even remember why we have come to this place?
He will carry none of Zeddicus' possessions. He will follow the others as they continue the quest. And he will fight by these mammalsm as best he can. But Sandor has grown somewhat wiser from this experience.