He chewed his tongue, contemplating Retta’s explanation.  It was as much of a mystery as the first scent he had received from her.  He did not hesitate a moment in giving his name, even though names are often script in curses.  Every time a curse was brought down on him, it meant certain death for the lips that whispered it, as he hunted them to the ends of the earth.<br/><br/><br/>“Erebus.”  He noticed Retta glancing at his beard.  He stroked it with his hand, felt the wet mead, and pulled his hand away to see the red stain.  Dried blood in his beard had reconstituted with the dripping drink.  He wiped it across the bear hide and then grinned at Retta.  “My name is Erebus...and dinner,” he indicated the stain, “Was a little messy.”<br/><br/><br/>Erebus’ grin split slightly and his eyes yellowed as he let out a low laugh.  “And to answer your first question, I seek many foul creatures.” He leaned forward, “Know any?”