As a squire, you had unlikely duties to attend to, and an even unlikelier lord. For instance, you had learned to wake before dawn, because your master, Sir Marrok, never truly slept, and requested for his meals to be delivered to him in the privacy of his chambers.

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 of a secretive sort, he had to keep his urges private, with good reason. If anybody found out a knight like himself couldn't bear to eat anything other than raw flesh, despite it getting him sick every day, there's no doubt people would make him a subject of redicule. The seven years the man had spent as a wild beast had affected him more than he would've liked to let on.