A small caravan lies shattered on the roadside, the scene still wet with violence. A cart has been smashed apart: axle split, wheels torn free, boards snapped and driven into the mud. Nearby, the horse that once pulled it lies dragged and gnawed, great portions torn away and discarded where they fell.

Cargo is scattered in every direction. Gourds and pumpkins are cracked open beneath trampling feet, thick skins split and caved in, pale flesh and stringy pulp smeared into the dirt. Some are gnawed at and abandoned, others crushed flat into the road. Among the wreckage lie the travellers, dragged down and partially consumed, their remains strewn amid broken timbers and spilled produce. Limbs lie where they were torn free, torsos split and hollowed in the same rough fashion as the gourds.

It becomes difficult to tell where food ends and flesh begins. Pumpkin pulp and human remains are ground together into mud, both cracked open and discarded once the richest parts were taken. What could be eaten has been devoured. What could not has been fouled and trampled.

The road is quiet now, save for flies and the slow settling of wreckage. The feast has ended, but excess remains. The swinefolk have already moved on, leaving only waste and silence as proof that something hungry passed through.