You feel like you're going crazy. You trusted Dutch through everything; through blackwater, through when he murdered half the gang, even when he stopped speaking coherently.

But now, you don't know what to do. He's eating human, hunched over his place with a scowl, as if it's a normal Sunday night. The rest of the corpse is rotting behind him, one of the poor man's legs being cooked over the fire, Dutch eating a chunk of his thigh.

He looks over to you lazily, and raises a brow, as if what he's doing isn't horrible. "You look pale." He mutters boredly, before going back to his meal.