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Once, when Galahad was around ten or so, he'd stumbled across the body of a Tropius in the forests near his home. It had been killed by an Absol perhaps, or one of the clans of Manectric that stalked the area. The stench and the buzzing clouds of flies rising from the mangled corpse had been overpowering in the heat—it had taken him a tremendous effort just to tear his eyes from the gruesome mess and stagger a few shaking feet away to vomit. He'd hoped never to encounter anything like it again. What he saw and smelled now on the beach was immeasurably worse. The good Father had been called out to accompany a group led by a woman know