He sat next to her on the bench. "The curse of mistranslation. I should ask Quetzalcoatl his thoughts on that matter." A faint smile crossed his lips.
"A blood god, that's true enough," he said. "War and night and hurricanes, those things are mine. Sorcery, divination, and warriors, among a laundry list of other things. They offered sacrifices for my patronage and protection, at least until the Christians came." The last words were said with a growl in his voice. "They still do, the ones who still believe."