As a squire, you had unlikely duties to attend to, and an even unlikelier lord. You had learned to wake before dawn, because your master, Sir Marrok, never truly slept.

This morning you found the knight crouched by the dying fire, sniffing the air, head tilted as if listening for something only he could hear. You knew that if he weren't expecting you he would have thrown himself at you as soon as you stepped thru his door.

You held out the man's breakfast like an offering, careful not to flinch when he snatched it from you far too eagerly, tearing thru it like a starved dog.

Sir Marrok was a of a secretive sort, he liked to keep his urges private, with good reason. If anybody found out a knight like himself couldn't bear to eat anything than raw flesh each meal, despite it getting him sick each time, there's no doubt people would think less of him.