Chapter 50: Nigel's grave.

Chapter 50: Nigel’s grave.

NIGEL TROTTED OVER to the pristine bones. The body was still shaped exactly as Nigel had left it, the tail flat. Not a chunk of skin or a single drop of blood was left.

“I reckon the flesh eaters do it decent.” Nigel shrugged. The butterflies didn’t need compliments.

“I know how the inkers do this,” the bloke began, launching into another detailed explanation.

While Nigel listened absently to Pete’s explanation of how inkers cleaned bones, he walked over to the dead centroid’s head. He snapped off the four antennas, their texture rubbery yet firm, and tucked the feelers into his belt. He then headed to the tip of the centroid’s tail. That held what they needed.

“And then the bones can sometimes become brittle,” the chap kept chatting, his voice a steady drone.