After having his fill, Ludwig moved away from the riverbank. The last taste still clung to his tongue, oil, blood, cold river-sweet flesh, and it made his stomach feel heavy in a way he hadn't experienced in years.
The mud under his boots turned tackier near the water, and each step away felt like dragging himself out of something comfortable and wrong at the same time. His hands kept flexing without permission, as if the body was already thinking about the next bite.
Ludwig cursed out loud.
The sound came out low and ugly, more a breath than a word, because it wasn't the fish he hated. It was the fact that the fish had been good enough to make him momentarily forget where he was, good enough to make his mind narrow into a hungry tunnel the way it did for creatures that lived one meal at a time.
"What is wrong, chieftain? Was the food not to your liking?" Akro asked.
