[ There is already a ragged tear in the meat of his hand, sluggishly bleeding still down the length of his fingers. The dryad had not wanted a self-sacrifice. This woman had uncovered that indiscriminate slaughter was not the way to go either; which meant that the dryad truly did want covenant. An agreement forged between at least two souls. He had attempted blood. She had attempted flesh. Neither was accepted on its own, so rather than attempt either on their own again -- both, agreed upon, might be necessary.

It is what he would demand, as a god. Willing sacrifices of blood and flesh, prized cattle and domestic animals, prisoners of war -- they are all things that lead him onward towards his conclusion. That the creature of the tree spits out blades upon their agreement on the matter does make his lip curl.

The disgusting shape of her face, her roots, they're all-too similar to another he knows. Knew. Never knew, maybe. The roots of Life, the prospering greenery that once flowed across Egypt had been grown and encouraged by his brother. He wants to be gone of them, and fast; to that end, he looks to her. Looks to his own body. ]

Nothing vital to combat or agility. Full limbs are out. Fingers are out. Toes are out. Eyes are out. Innards are out. Arguably I would wish us to be as hale as possible, while still meeting the criteria -- flesh and blood in covenant.

[ It rules out hair, as well. Hair won't bleed. ]

What about an ear? Your hair and mine are long enough to cover a - blemish.

[ He doesn't know what will happen, if his divine form is marred visibly. If it's really even capable of it. Might as well see, might as well work with the most simple of things, if a full life isn't required, and blood isn't enough. ]