She did not know how to advertise her ideas, it was traditional to have it tattooed to the forehead of an important official's next meal, but that did not fit her aims. She had to use these things food called 'paper' and ink was even harder to procure, ink not made out of blood. It wasn't even labeled what contained human products and what did not. She sighed, essence rumbling in agreement. She was becoming gaunt, dark circles under her eyes. But her health was nothing compared to her ideology . . . she was willing to suffer. There were alternatives . . . even a society so dependent on the herd. So many argued that it was natural . . . that Wraith were made to eat humans. But they were sentient beings . . . capable of great suffering. Her fellow beings could not consider that . . . they refused to believe that because human consciousness did not operate in the same way wraith consciousness, that it was entitled to the same rights . . . the so-called silver-rule, 'Treat others as you would have them treat you.'

But others did not wish to see their food as real, they claimed that human populations would explode out of control without the cullings . . . they had seen evidence of human societies destroying themselves with internal wars on many a planet. They claimed that these animals lived out happy existences, allowed to do as they pleased . . . the Wraith did not control them and torture them as they had seen some humans do to their own food. They did not make their short lives that much shorter - they killed before the horror of old age. It was only their death that was violent, and the Wraith did not go out of their way to make it more so. They did not speak to their prey . . . make it personal. It was the need to eat, nothing more . . . natural.

But that did not make it right. And as much as everyone else tried to distance themselves from their prey . . . she had spent time observing them . . . in glimpses when she could. They might not be capable of telepathic connection . . . of true togetherness . . . of the many varied rituals of the jikat . . . they may not have the wisdom of ages - their lives were short in comparison to her people. But that did make their deaths right. They were capable of loyalty . . . of disconnected love . . . and certainly capable of suffering. Even if these things were pale and base in comparison to the Wraith existence . . . were they not the same?

She took a deep breath as she ascended the twisting steps leading up to the council chamber, clasping her pathetic looking banner tight in her clawed hand. She knew that they would laugh . . . but if she could convince just one to join her, that would be thousands less consumed. No, it would not stop the supply, the cullings, but maybe it could stem the demand a tiny bit. If she could just convince one, it would be worth it.