Deep in the forest, the old smokehouse emitted a sweet fragrance as the oak smouldered. Outside stood intact barrels, and piles of dismantled hoops and staves, the latter ready to become fuel. Inside, strips of salted flesh hung on rows of metal hangers, absorbing the tenderising smoke, alongside hams of various sizes hanging on strings.

After a couple of days, the curing was finished, ready for his ghoulish clients. Only then did the ogre move the product to an enormous fridge, at which time he knew he would need to replenish his supply. It was nearly time to hunt again.