Whoever had gone at this guy had been quite determined to do him in... the holes were plentiful and deep... reminding Harbull of a large hunk of exotic cheese he'd once seen (and tasted) at his uncle Clumpfoot's breakfast table. Aaaaah... dear uncle Clumpfoot... he always set a fine table. It had been a strong flavored cheese that melted easily and right now he was wishing he had some more of it... and some bread to go with it... oh well.
Unfortunately this fellow here wasn't a cheese and soon wouldn't be much of a fellow either.
A lonely death in dirt and darkness... Harbull briefly pictured the man as he might have been as a child... smiling and playing... unaware of his low destiny.
'No. I don't want it', Harbull said to Kirsten's mention of the (soon to be ownerless) crossbow. A good knife and a keen eye would serve him better than that clunky contraption.