No, let's make use of her.

"Go home, vessel." I laced up Varlow's trousers and looked at my lesser half. "Consume what you can there. Cultivate it, and bring back to me."

Gree'ek nodded and disappeared into the forest, leaving me to return to my post. I sorted through Varlow's memories as I walked, realizing that I'd been gone for a good three months. Aside from that, there was very little to glean from Varlow's vague recollections. The memory of a commotion some months ago, thoughts of pleasant drunkenness, and of course, memories of Marian.

It was hard to actually understand who she was and what she looked like. Varlow's memories were so biased and rose-tinted, it was ridiculous. I took up position with the other Militiaman, who complained about how long I'd been. I responded as Varlow would, vacuous and apologetic.

The rest of the day passed quickly, there was very little traffic and nobody really wanted to deal with the militia in general or Varlow in particular. Once his shift was done I took a second look in his memories for the location of his home. I ran down the list, noting that Varlow was an orphan, and that he lived in a shack behind his sister's home. He didn't get along with her husband; the man thought Varlow was a waste of space.

I tried to spy the form of his sister, but only got indistinct impressions. I'd know her when I saw her, but Varlow seemed to forget peoples faces the moment they were out of sight.

Stares seemed to follow me as I walked through Barley, eyes accompanied by whispers. If it weren't for the memories telling me this was a common occurrence I'd worry something about me was sticking out. A memory leapt to the forefront, my own for once, and I recalled a beautiful black-skinned woman at the inn.

The hunger that defined me rumbled at the thought of her, and I found my eyes lingering on the inn.