"What happened to you Tarin ?"
"I don't know, but I need to feed..... you can see what I need to eat. I've tried to fight it, but it's impossible, it's like trying not to breathe. One kill can last me for weeks; the putrid flesh satisfies me almost as much as fresh."
Ghūl was a name Nethra knew from her childhood, the foul creatures who lurked in ancient graveyards and fed on the rotting flesh of the long dead. Tarin didn't have the grey skin tone she remembered from the tales, but it was obvious that chaos had imbued him with a need to eat dead flesh, a need that sounded irresistible.
"Someone will come to investigate the smell eventually Tarin, you can't live like this."
He was looking around the kitchen as though seeing the dead flesh for the first time.
"You helped me," she said, "so I'll help you. This body is too far gone, it needs putting in a sack a dumping, a long way from here and it needs doing today. There are ways of preserving flesh, like salting or curing with herbs and spices. There's even pickling if you feel adventurous. I'll show you how."
