AUDIT: Fort Rags

Old Ragsnarolk
  "Butter.  Buttered bread.  Dern it." says Hoff.
  "Butter.  God's Wounds -- to bring it up!" says Alec.
  Dead goat.  Dragged for a day in the tool harness provided by the Outfit.  Dead goats don't milk.   No milk, no butter.
  Down in the valley are leafless trees like leaf rakes stuck handle in the dirt.   Like scarecrows.  No crops.  No birds.  No butter.
  "No bread, Ass.  Your mouth is an ass.  That's what hole that is." says Alec.
  Dawning over the valley, the boys get to changing out the batteries on their saws. 
  "We have to eat the goat." says Hoff. "Gone as bad as we can let him."
  "Rechain." says Alec.
  "How did I end up here?" says Hoff.
  Now Alec is on him, grabbing Hoff by the coat, and pulling him up, and steering him roughly, until they face the rising light of sun like a dollop of melting butter at the cleft of the two hills.
"Because of there.  Look there."
  As Alec growls it the tell-tale cube of Old Ragsnarolk, the fortress, burrows out some blackberry blackness under the ascent of the sun. 
  "There, there, and there.  The complex.  No one told you to come.  No one drafted you, butter-eater.  You've been subcontracted, and when they came to you, you licked your lips!  We promised them a road.  And they promised us a cut of the loot.  Now chain your saw.  We're cutting to there.  Soldiery to make such a place.  Think.."
  Alec rubs Hoff's neck.
  "Butter?" Hoff says, and he laughs.
  "Butter.  All this valley's butter, and up there is the pot!  Fort Rags." says Alec.  "A good week, and we'll be on the doorstep.  Re-chain.  The Outfit are days behind.  We can get inside, and have a good long look.  Get lean to get fat."
  "Get mean, get far." Hoff says. "But, Alec.."
  "What?"
  "I want to eat this goat."