He spends the day hunting along the branch of the Elrendar that describes the border between the still-living woods and the Ghostlands.
Most of the beasts there are wary of the stench of undeath, though they've grown to associate it with the clatter of exposed bone or the gibbering of uncautious ghouls; a careful hunter, patient and silent, has little reason to be concerned about spooking his prey untimely. The little sun-dappled deer that browse the living banks of the river are flighty and swift as a bowshot arrow and even that makes them no match for a disciple of the unholy. He is mindful of who he intends to feed, as he catches one and then another of the tiny beasts and snaps their necks with his bare hands; tantalizing as their small deaths are he can't simply rip them open with tooth and nail in a fit of bloodthirst, and bring back the scraps for later.
No; once he's made his own paltry meal of the blood and offal, he does a rough job of peeling the hides off his catch and severing them apart joint by joint. The best of it he picks to bring home for Meridas, the choice rooted in instinct older even than the pregnant quel'dorei it's made for: 'pick me, love me, keep me; I can feed you'.
The less-desirable cuts--still good enough to serve a noble at table, he thinks; the woods out here are still wild enough that the venison's got a certain taste to it--he rolls up in one of the hides, noisome and dripping with blood, and carries to Suncrown Village.
Nerubians have as much a taste for raw meat as any predator, and he's careful to leave his gift of meat and bone right on Mephest's doorstep to avoid it being poached. With it are the other fruits of a day's gathering, some of them literal: fresh herbs, cress and wood sorrel, button mushrooms, wild apples and pears still a little green. He'd even thought to include a bag of salt, though not with any consideration for the fact the young paladin might not be able to cook.
Not that a little raw food ever hurt anyone.
To: J. Mornherald
From: L. Plagueheart
[Several field anemones compliment pressed bloodspore and cinquefoil, as well as a sheaf of quillvine. A scrap of fresh rabbit fur, a dragonhawk feather, a polished pebble, and a handful of worn skeletal fingerbones accompany the flowers.]
am v. sorry haven't written
things have been
di bad fucking terrible
wish I had
tm time to visit but i am not sure how safe so
but i am with Bloodflame so write back as much as you like & i will
mk make ask him to read it