Sheogorath watches, even as Mulcahy's fingers grow cracked and bleeding, even as the priest grows dizzy and sick and a dark vignette creeps into the edges of his vision. Sheogorath watches until Mulcahy has no more stones to throw.

Then, he goes and gathers them up, and sets them just out of arms' reach, gathered in a pebbly little congregation.

Sheogorath watches Mulcahy, silently, like a cat.