"Bring me some," he demanded, gently enough to be a suggestion.

Then he began to open cupboard doors. An array of bites, some recognizable, some decadant and beautiful, some crisp, tart, light...

And meats. Fish, sweet and snow white that fell in light flakes. FIsh, pink and thick and a joy to chew. Birds, crispy roasted, three to a skewer. Cubes of flesh that all tasted better than the last.

A feast of Willy's leavings.