Bearclaw Valley rum. bring a bottle of it.

merrick, a skilled murderer, untried leader, and now tied somehow to this trailing little thing. but aventus did not disappoint him, and they walked along the river, the madman tempering his step as not to leave the boy behind. a rainbow of scent, and at its bloodied end, a rotting corpse, bloated with some unknown sickness.
"very good," he growled, stopping behind aventus' watchful form. its smallness reminded him again of how easily the damnable little things could be killed, but it went against the new interest for the pair merrick was now cultivating.
"smell," and he stepped around the minuscule body, pressed his snout closer to the body. "we do not eat anything that smells like this."