Prelude ...
William Wallace Simpson, Billy to his friends, sat on a great quartz rock angling down into the murky waters of the Huanoco River. The eighteener boy was a living doll with his cute face and short-cropped, curly mop of raven hair contrasting sharply with the pale ivory of his unblemished skin.

His young body, beautifully proportioned but slim and wiry, was completely naked and the one part of his anatomy that was bigger than one might expect, his thick, handsomely formed penis, was jutting up in full erection.

That wasn't because he had sex in mind.

The Indians had rubbed his cock with a salve that provided steady, painful irritation, forcing it to harden involuntarily. It was apparently part of the sacrificial ritual.

By now the teen, though no rocket scientist, had figured out that he was being offered up as a human sacrifice deep in the Amazon jungle on the eastern slope of the Peruvian Andes.

He was positioned with his feet extended towards the murky water lapping at the edge of the rock, ankles bound together, wrists tied behind his back. A thin cord from an overhead limb was looped loosely around his throat, forcing him to raise his upper body and remain in place on the stone surface for his killing.

His face registered abject horror as he watched the snake that had just glided partway up onto his rock pause to quietly survey him. It's flickering tongue drew in data about him, preparatory to the next phase of things. What that would be seemed pretty clear.

He had no doubt whatever that the monstrous anaconda would shortly begin to swallow him whole.
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From the beginning he'd had an impression that for some reason the professor had recruited him precisely for his slimmer physique. He now understood. His trimmer form would provide an easier meal for the anaconda!

The man had repeatedly told him he would play a special role on the expedition seeking ancient Incan artifacts. That too now made terrifying sense.

Although the snake, ancient itself and possibly the largest of its species in existence, could have swallowed a large man, a smaller, slimmer body was easier and quicker for it to devour. Thus the Quintaras preferred to offer more slightly built boys and young men to appease the monster dwelling in the deep pool within their terrain.

The tribe knew the cycles of the great serpent's hunger and by offering it a timely sacrifice they could avoid it preying on their own people, living with it in an uneasy coexistence. Over the decades, though fearing it, they had even come to worship it as a sort of god.

The snake was examining the offered prey to verify that, as with all of these meals over so many years, this creature on the dining rock would offer no resistence. It was not necessary for it to waste time using its crushing coils as a prelude to dining.

The rope elevating Billy's head not only kept him in place for the sacrifice, but also made it impossible for the reptile to swallow him from that end, it's preferred eating pattern. Instead it would begin at his feet, so conveniently, suggestively thrust out towards the water anyway.

That way the teen's suffering would be horribly protracted for the assembled tribesmen to enjoy. More importantly, just as he was nearly ingested, they could collect that precious, beautiful head.

The snake was now opening its mouth and unhinging its jaws to move up around Billy's feet and many of the Indians were openly weeping for sheer joy.

Perched nearby, "Doc" Westin wasn't weeping but he was watching with avid interest. He'd never seen a boy eaten alive by a snake and the anaconda was bigger than any he'd ever imagined could exist ... the stuff of legends.

Fascinating, He thought. He'll live until the snake draws in the chest and compresses his diaphragm. Even then the suffocation will be very slow and progressive.

By then, the feet will be in the stomach with the digestive juices at work, though the snake's potent mouth saliva is a jump-starter for digestion before anything even reaches the belly.

He cringed slightly as he imagined how excruciating all that was going to be for the boy.

The Indians really knew how to induce maximum suffering from their victims! But then, he already knew that. Witness what they had done some weeks before to the half-breed kid he'd given them and what they had done to Jake Garner just yesterday! He could still hear the demented screams of the big, sandy-haired jock stud as the Indians extracted his life.

Tom Henson, the first tortured and killed the previous afternoon, had died painfully as well, though a bit more quickly. They'd had to hurry with his torment as the poison from the dart wounds he incurred while trying to escape would shortly have been fatal.

Of course, there was still the third of his labor pool, Brock Jackson ... BJ ... awaiting his fate in the bamboo enclosure used to house prisoners. Westin turned and glanced at the crew-cut hunk who was sitting on his butt, arms bound behind him, watching in numbed, fascinated disbelief as the snake begin swallowing poor Billy.
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I wonder how they plan to deal with BJ? Westin mused. Hopefully with some nice, prolonged suffering to provide more of this delightful entertainment.

Story ...

The trio of ex-high school jocks had been easy to recruit for his expedition. Recently laid off from jobs in the Louisiana oil fields, the handsome, buff studs were desperate for work and the high wages he offered them had seemed a godsend. The fact that the young hunks were loners with no close family ties made them even better suited for his purposes.

He'd passed himself off as an archaeologist searching for a lost Incan ruin and in need of laborers for anticipated excavation. In truth he was a fortune hunter ... a grave robber really ... and he knew exactly what he was after, where it was, and that no excavation would be required.

He needed the attractive, well-built boys for quite a different purpose.

A trove of Incan gold and jewels lay in a small cave not far from the Huanoco River, a tributary of the mighty Amazon.

Unfortunately a tribe of headhunter-cannibals happened to live virtually on top of the cave.

The treasure had been looted from a newly discovered temple high up the back of the Andes. Pursued by Peruvian authorities, the thieves had fled into Brazil and eventually almost reached the Huanoco, an easily navigable river leading back to civilization.

Then they unexpectedly ran into the fierce Quintaras. Forced to abandon their load, they cached the stolen artifacts in the cave and fled, but all lost their heads save one.

Westin had run into the survivor in a bar in Rio de Janeiro. The man, a hopeless sot, was trying to raise an armed troop to go retrieve the fortune, but no one believed the drunkard's wild tale.

Westin, however, was aware of the Peruvian raid and the missing fortune in solid gold figurines inset with rubies and emeralds. Talk of it had been circulating through the ranks of the world's treasure seekers for over a year.

The drunk's story dovetailed perfectly into what Westin already knew and he befriended the man, wormed the exact site of the cave from the fool, then slit his throat from ear to ear.

When it came to profit, Westin had little sympathy for human life and no inclination to share anything.

Which was where his trio of young bulls came in.

He decided to make a cautious scouting trip of the route upriver to the edge of the Quintara lands and hired a vicious old trader and his boat. When the guide learned Westin was interested in the reclusive cannibals, he produced a half-Indian, half-Portuguese youth from the docks in Parana whose mother was a member of a neighboring tribe with a closely related language.

Using the eighteen year-old, Javio, as an interpreter, they made guarded contact with the Quintaras. He quickly discovered a warrior among them who, kidnaped as a boy by river traders, had learned rudimentary portuguese before escaping back to the tribe. That was a language among the many spoken by Westin so Javio's linguistic services were no longer needed.

The boy could be put to a different, most useful, function.

The tribe was very much aware of the yellow figures embedded with glowing rocks lying in the cave. The presence of the alien items made them nervous and they had declared the grotto taboo and left it undisturbed.

They were perfectly willing to let Westin have the strange totems in exchange for a shipment of coveted goods ... metal tools, weapons, and woven cloth ... and what they refereed to as tribute.

When he figured out what that meant, he had almost laughed. All they expected were a few young men upon whom to dine and collect heads, and one slimmer boy to be given to a so-called snake god. Westin wasn't quite sure what that entailed but it sounded intriguing.

The price was cheap enough and very feasible, even amusing to contemplate.

In the meantime, Javio was not just superfluous as an interpreter, but fatally compromised. He knew way too much about Westin's quest to be allowed to return to Parana. Besides, the tribe had been all but salivating as they contemplated the young half-breed.

Without hesitation, he offered to swap the boy for a chance to visit the cave and assess its contents. The Indians eagerly agreed to that suggestion, almost shuddering in pleasure at the thought of trophying the kid's head and devouring his sweet boy meat.

Shortly Westin was exploring the cave alone while his hosts waited outside, their prize stripped, bound, and quaking in terror, tethered like a goat with a rope around his neck.

There were fourteen of the heavy gold statuettes, the encrustation of emeralds and rubies every bit as impressive as rumored. The value of the trove on the black market would be immense! Exiting the small grotto, he affirmed to the grinning, excited warriors that Javio was now theirs.

They had already smeared his cock with the salve that Westin would later see used on Billy Simpson to produce an involuntary, painful erection. They had also tied a thin cord around it at the base to further insure the continued hardness.

One Indian now applied a heated flint knife and carefully cut all around the top of the teen's long, full scrotal bag, taking his time as the youth squealed like a pig and writhed.

After completing the cut, he eased the severed sac off around the balls, leaving the bared orbs dangling in the bright sunlight. There was very little blood as the hot blade had cauterized the wound as the scrotum was removed.

Westin, curious, leaned in close for a good look, never having seen a set of male seeders fully exposed like that. He found it most interesting and even a bit amusing.
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They retraced their path to the village, Javio carried between two sturdy warriors, face-down, his dangling, exposed orbs bouncing around below. Fresh screams of suffering emitted from him with every agonizing jounce to his wounded crotch as his captors trotted along.

Anxious to get on his way, Westin did not stay around to see what more was done to Javio but the boy's screams continued to echo from the village until the boat was finally out of earshot.

Westin had a suspicion they were probably skinning the teenager alive. Javio had told him on the trip upriver that the Quintaras sometimes did that to their prey before cooking them. The cannibals had raided his mother's people for fresh meat on a fairly regular basis and he had heard her talk of their reputed culinary habits.

If the river captain was bothered by the loss of the boy, he kept his mouth shut.

That didn't save him.

As they neared Parana on the return trip, Westin shot him through the back of the head and dumped him to a school of piranha. He stashed the boat, which he had no trouble operating, at a backwater pier for a nominal berthing fee, then flew to the United States.

Shortly after signing on Jake, Tom and BJ, twenty-two, nineteen and twenty, respectively, he'd encountered Billy waiting tables in a New Orleans café and promptly hired the doll-faced boy to complete his team.

Within three weeks they were chugging up the Amazon and into the Huanoco in the stolen steamboat, the craft laden with the material wares desired by the Indians.

The most important of the trade goods were walking around on the deck, safely aboard and utterly oblivious to the fact that theirs was to be a one-way trip.

Staring at crocodiles sunning on the passing riverbank, BJ shuddered and looked over at Westin at the helm of the craft.

"This is one dangerous, scary place, Doc. Lots of critters around that look like they'd enjoy eating my furry young butt. What about the Indians? Are they dangerous here too?"
Westin smiled down.
"I don't expect any trouble from the Indians where we're going. I've gone to a lot of trouble to make sure of that ... trust me!"
And he had a lot of trouble not laughing out loud.

From up on the bow where he was sunning, bare-chested, Tom glanced up and chuckled.

"Anything eating you, BJ, would spit you right out. You'd taste fuckin' awful, dude!"

"Yeah? You liked how part of me tasted last night just fine, man!"

"He was desperate ... real hard up after I wouldn't let him suck me," Jake teased from where he'd been leaning over a rail trying to spot piranha. "I usually never turn down free head but even I got some standards!"

"Yeah right! Fuckin' eat me!"

BJ hurled his insult good-naturedly, obscenely groping his bulging crotch, not having any idea there were folks waiting just a few miles away who had every intention of doing precisely what he suggested. Literally!

When, a few hours later, they landed on the bank just below the tribe's rude village, they were swiftly surrounded by the silent, paint-smeared, feathered savages armed with spears, blowguns and sharp-edged flint axes and knives.

Nervously the quartet of white youths glanced from the scowling Indians to the smiling professor.

Billy stammered, trembling slightly, his Adam's apple gulping furiously.

"Wh ... what are w ... we supposed to do, Professor Westin? These guys d ... don't look too friendly."

"I suggest the four of you start stripping off your clothing. They'll want you naked for what they have in mind."

The four just stared at him, not comprehending the strange comment. None moved a muscle to comply.

He pulled his machine pistol from its holster and the Indians stirred in sudden alarm but then relaxed again as the white chief trained the barrel on the four delicious looking young males. Most of the tribesmen were almost salivating at the thought of the feast to come, though first there would be the wonderful fun of the killing.

The tribe's shaman, the chief priest, was studying Billy, whom he'd instantly picked out as the one intended for the snake.

Excellent! The white chief chose well. This boy will go easily and well into the river beast's belly.

"I wasn't really making a suggestion." Westin said. "Start getting off those clothes ... now!"

Stunned, disbelieving, terrified, the four began to disrobe under the threat of the gun aimed at them. A pleased stir rippled through the throng of warriors as the beautiful, smooth-skinned, hard-muscled bodies began to appear.

Tom, the youngest of the labor trio at nineteen, kept staring up at Westin, accusation in his eyes, even as he popped open his pants and started peeling them down. The brunet hunk was wearing no shorts and his big manhood quickly, almost shyly, peeked out of the Vee in the cloth.
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The Indians respected large endowment in a man. They believed that eating the flesh of such a virile male would impart his sexual drive into their own loins. A pleased smile played over many of the painted faces as they saw that all three of the cookers were huge between their legs.

Even the snake boy was wonderfully equipped between his thighs and, though less important, that pleased them too. If they appreciated powerful maleness in their victims, perhaps the reptile as well would be better sated by such a finely hung specimen.

The white chief had done well by them. They were very happy with him.
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Shortly the eldest, sandy-haired, twenty-two year-old Jake, had finished stripping and stood there tensely, his fists angrily clenched down by his hips, a glare aimed at his employer.

"You can't think you'll get by with this, you bastard," he muttered. "We all got friends and family who'll...."

"Actually," Westin laughed, "I know that is not true. I doubt anyone will care in the slightest about your disappearance.
Xxxx"For that matter, no one knows you were working for me or where we went. Remember, we flew into that abandoned air field in Parana and avoided Brazilian immigration authorities.
Xxxx"Thus, I already have already gotten by with it."

Jake, realizing the complete truth of that, sagged slightly though he still tried to maintain his bravely defiant posture.

Westin surveyed the superb bodies of the now nude quartet ... the "tribute" demanded by the tribe delivered in full, glorious measure.

They made a handsome sight, standing there trembling before the increasingly pleased-looking Indians.

He chuckled at noting how passive and disconcerted they had become after stripping. There was nothing like being butt naked in the face of danger to take the spunk right out of a man, making him feel completely shamed and vulnerable.

The Indians understood no English, of course. Thus the exchange between the oldest of the roasting pigs and the white chief was gibberish to their ears, but they could tell the chief had prevailed and they joined in his mirth, giggling like children.
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Westin waved his pistol at the nude American studs.

"Lock your hands behind your heads until they get you bound and caged. If I shoot, it will not be to kill, just to wound as painfully as possible.
xxxx"I wouldn't think of robbing my friends here of the enjoyment of dispatching your useless asses at their leisure."
He seemed to be aiming now at their knees and the thought of taking a bullet there was plenty of incentive to three of the four.

BJ, twenty years old, in his utter prime, golden-tanned, brown haired and god-like in his beauty, though with a look of seething anger on his face, was the first to hastily comply, locking his fingers behind his neck in a submissive stance even as the Indians moved towards him with woven ropes.

Billy and Jake followed suit.

It was at that point that Tom, in desperation, bolted.

He could not realistically have expected to escape but may have reached the logical conclusion that he was as good as dead anyway and decided on at least a stab at resistence. Either that or he just panicked.

With a howl of rage he threw a shoulder into an approaching warrior, punched another, and kicked a third, sending all three bowling over. He then exploded through the opening created among the startled mob and succeeded in getting a good lead, his feet churning in the muddy soil of the riverbank.

Westin could not get a clear shot without hitting one of the Indians.
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They didn't even attempt to run him down. For that matter, he'd been a high school track jock and they could not likely have easily caught him.

Instead half a dozen blow pipes rose nearly as one and with soft, hissing spits barbed darts flew after him like a swarm of angry bees.

In a moment his back and buttocks bristled with the feathered projectiles and he staggered to a halt his face contorted with sudden shock and excruciating pain.

The points of the darts were coated with a resin capable of quickly killing smaller game such as monkeys.

In a larger body like Tom's, the substance produced almost paralytic levels of suffering.

Immobilized, he slowly collapsed to his knees as the amused Indians came towards him at a leisurely pace to collect their wounded prey.

Actually, the poison now in his system would render him comatose within the hour with death to quickly follow. Aware of this the Quintaras knew they needed to act with dispatch if they were to extract additional suffering from the muscular young white man before his rising trauma from the poison denied them that pleasure.

In short order Tom was dangling from ropes around his arms and wrists with his legs drawn out in a straight line to either side of his body, his crotch utterly exposed and vulnerable.

While one warrior sliced off his nipples, another leaned in close with a flint knife and slowly castrated him. The manhood was carved off at the neck, both the balls and cock removed as one trophy. Blood spurted freely from the raw wound, the boy's face leaving no doubt about the depth of his suffering.

His maddened scream echoed through the jungle, sending flocks of brightly colored birds into startled flight punctuated with their alarmed screeches.
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Several more warriors crowded in with knives and began expertly to skin the screaming, bucking captive alive.

Bound and helpless in their bamboo cage, the other three American hunks could only watch in mounting terror as they witnessed Tom's torture. Just before shock rendered their companion beyond further feeling, they gasped and looked away as his head was chopped off with an expert swipe of a broad-headed obsidian axe.

The bloody corpse was cut down and toted off by the women in the tribe to prepare for feasting while the men tossed Tom's head around like a toy, laughing and admiring it.

Jake was shortly to join Tom in the roasting pit, but first the life needed to be extracted from his tall, powerful body.

The Indians had long since learned to find a use for everything found in their environment, even the dangerous army ants whose ferocious stings they avoided at all costs.

Jake was hauled from his cage and dragged a short ways off to a shadowed corner of a jungle clearing where he was bound between two trees by his arms, his ankles staked to the ground. His cock was smeared with the harsh salve used on Javio to force an amusing erection.

His naked feet were right at the edge of an ant mound and the furious insects quickly attacked the intruder in full force. Racing up his limbs and between his legs, up over his gut onto his chest, many of the swarming ants waited to bite and thrust with their stingers. Others, less patient, began injecting their venom lower on his body.

In moments, hundreds of the half-inch brutes were working on his writhing form.

Oxalic acid, the primary component of ant venom, is one of the most deadly poisons in nature. It is certainly about the most painful, its effects on the human nervous system agonizing beyond description.

Injected in major doses, it would kill almost instantly. Gradually injected, as with Jake, it produced a hellish agony over what seemed an eternity. Each sting was like a red hot coal applied to his trembling, constricted body.
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His screams went on and on. And on.

The Indians stood and squatted nearby, closely observing the young stud's suffering and giggling with delighted glee.

Eventually, the accumulated effects of the venom and pain began to wear down the jock's resistence. Shock threatened to enfold him in its merciful grip.

At that point, he was cut down, tossed on the ground, his thighs held widely apart for castration. A fresh, hoarse shriek echoed from him as the knife slashed between his legs and a grinning Quintaran rose with the severed manhood held high in jubilant satisfaction. Another amputated his nipples.

His neck was then positioned over a nearby log, his head bent back, facing upwards. Without ceremony, a warrior raised his axe high and brought it swooshing down onto the exposed throat..

Jake's head came off cleanly.

Westin was invited to the feast. Though a bit squeamish at engaging in cannibalism, he feared offending the Indians whom he suspected might decide to renege on their deal now that they had the American boys. Killing him too and simply taking the trading goods still stowed on the boat could certainly cross their minds as a course of action.

So he went.

When the two bodies, gutted and stuffed with fruit, were brought steaming from the earthen cooking pits, whole roasted for long hours, they were lusciously brown like Thanksgiving turkeys, dripping with bubbling juices.

The aroma was utterly mouth-watering and Westin was startled at how suddenly eager he was to join in the unique meal.

The taste was every bit as good as the smell had suggested, the meat oddly sweet, unlike anything he'd ever eaten before. The flesh was so tender that it flaked easily from the bones and virtually melted in his mouth.

The Quintaras, Westin decided, as he eagerly helped himself to seconds, are onto something good here!

He would have preferred to get away that same evening but the Indians declined to off-load the wares from the boat until the next day, promising to then assist him in loading the Incan artifacts. Thus he had to remain. Truthfully, he was curious about Billy and BJ's fates anyway so the forced delay in departure did not totally displease him.

He spent the night on the boat, warily determined to stay awake, still distrustful of his savage hosts. But, sated from his full belly, he slipped into a deep sleep after a while and had dreams of his golden trove.

He awakened with a start, diving for his gun, amid whooping yells from a mob of Indians just outside the boat. He was relieved to find they were simply rousing him to witness Billy's sacrifice.

The interpreter warrior, grinning widely, speaking in his rough, pidgin Portuguese, urged him to come at once.

"You hurry, hurry, white chief! Give boy now to snake god. Very much fun! Snake eat boy whole!"
And he had watched as the sacrifice of Billy Simpson played out on the great rock by the river.

When the teen was encased in the snake up to his chest, his screams were cut off by the almost fatal constriction of his diaphragm as it steadily slid into the maw of the anaconda. Only then did the Quintaras move in close and behead him, ending his prolonged suffering with one swift, deft stroke of an axe.

Westin had presumed that the earthen oven used the day before with Tom and Jake was the standard means to prepare men for consumption among the Quintaras. However, the way they dealt with BJ now proved they could be more versatile.

The hapless final white meal-on-feet was dragged from his cage after the ship had been off-loaded of the trade goods and the Incan treasure safely stowed on board.

It came as no surprise that he was first castrated. That was clearly a step in dealing with captives that greatly amused the warriors.

What was a bit of a surprise was that Westin was offered the opportunity to perform that ritual! He'd frequently fantasized about doing that to another male and eagerly accepted the knife from the grinning warriors, fully realizing he was being extended a high honor.

The naked jock stud was brought before him and securely held by the Quintaras, his legs forced widely apart to give Westin unhindered access to his pendulant manhood. Almost in a dream, Westin reached out and took a grip on the genitals, drawing them out and up, stretching out and baring the slim neck of the organs.

He brought the obsidian blade up until its glinting, serrated edge was poised against the underside of that vulnerable sex throat.

He sucked in a breath, tensed, then began the cut.

BJ's scream erupted just as did the blood from between his legs as Westin slowly, cruelly nutted him. The man was surprised at the deep, power-trip thrill of pure pleasure that throbbed through him from head to toe.

He had stripped naked himself to avoid splattering his clothing with blood and his cock, steely hard throughout the castration, exploded into a spontaneous orgasm as the severed organs came free into his hand.

Of course, the Indians howled with laughter at that occurrence, finding it quite hilarious.

Somewhat to Westin's surprise, the wound in BJ's crotch was cauterized with a burning ember from a campfire, new screams exploding from the tortured hunk. His pubic copse exploded into flame and burned away in the process, searing his groin.

The moaning, writhing boy was bound between two sturdy bamboo poles, lying face-up.

He was then suspended over a narrow bed of red-hot coals, banked and spread to send an even wave of searing heat wafting upwards. Shortly he was sweating profusely and screaming with refreshed vigor as his backside steadily reddened and blistered. His dripping fluids sputtered loudly as they struck the hot coals in a steady little cascade as he began cooking.
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When it was clear he was fast approaching unconsciousness from his burns and elevated body temperature, he was removed from the bed of coals. Decapitation followed, then the scorched carcass was gutted and cleaned, the arms and legs chopped off at the elbows and knees.

Spitted, what was left of the young demi-god was returned to the coals to be thoroughly roasted, basted continually with aromatic fruit juices and spices.

Westin joined his hosts for lunch ... BJ the entree of course ... before departing.

Just before he left he was drawn aside by the interpreter.

"Green stones? Them that on yellow figures? Quintara know where many same lie in rock in another cave. Not far.
Xxxx"You bring back more white boy fellas for to eat, we show you. You take plenty green rocks but bring plenty white boys too.
Xxxx"Not forget smaller one for great snake! You come back soon?"
Westin nodded happily.
"You bet. White chief come back real soon. Bring many, many pretty white boys for his Quintara friends!"
And that, Westin decided as he chugged towards the far-off confluence of the Huanoco with the Amazon, is definitely a deal!

He had also been given a small cloth-bound object as a parting gift and when he unwrapped it he gasped. It was a human head reduced to slightly larger than a baseball. Though the skin had darkened in the process of preparation and the lips and eyes were stitched shut, it was clearly identifiable as he held it in the palm of his hand.

It was the mummified, shrunken head of young Javio.

Feathers decorated the area where the severed neck had been also sewn closed.
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Fascinated he examined the grisly trophy and then positioned it on the ledge just before the helm of the boat to preside over his return trip to civilization.

It would go on the mantel above his fireplace at home and he hoped his new friends might give him more to join it after his next visit among them.