Stavanger Bay fromage.

Rain was often a blessing in the middle of a blistering summer. This storming weather was an anomaly however, and she knew she had to be careful. Hungry as she was, Stryx did not trust the sour smell of the rat carcass nor how corpulent it was; its flesh was soft and she was starving for it, almost to the point where any meal would be worthwhile to gorge upon, but at the same time Stryx knew her humours would easily malign with a cursed meal such as this.

She hoisted the rat up by the head (as it seemed like the only truly solid piece of it) and prepared to toss it back in to the deluge. Her teeth easily sank in to the putty-like neck; the slightest lift cleaved through the vertebrae and with a sickening plop the rat's body slid messily away from it, opening like an over-ripe fruit with its skin loosened by the water it had soaked within. The resulting mess discolored her limbs with a purple-brown sludge; blood having been fouled and blackened by rot.

The smell immediately washed through her. A stabbing to the nostrils. A corrupting influence — one which she had been trying to avoid by discarding the rat, and had she understood the level of degredation that the pooling water could cause, she would merely have dropped the slovenly carcass and buried it beneath her instead. She rose to her feet hastily and letting the skull drop from her mouth and dove from cover, seeking a puddle to wash out her mouth with.

So furious was her reaction that Stryx failed to notice the wine-dark woman passing by; she could not smell anything except the rank rot scent of the carcass, and she was trying to focus on any thought beyond the bizarre muddy feeling of the corpse which had fallen to pieces in her mouth - it was not working; she gags and coughs as rain pools against her tongue, head up, eager to drown the flavor out.