Before spreading the salt over the body, using a knife different from the one to slit the merrow’s throat and open its chest, another figure drew a long, precise line down the center of their tail. A silver tool like a potter’s rib was inserted beneath their scales, scraping thick curls of shimmering white fat out from between the skin and muscle. With it came a distinct minty-sweet aroma—and a wave of spinning, nauseating recognition crashed into Alba like a tidal wave.
