Editing Ilsenhoon the Mind Flayer Ministrel (section)

===Chapter 8===
Not his actual wife, of course. The wife of one of the people he ate; he's not sure which one, likely one of the bandits that had been in the area. His eyes watched the human, its long, curly brown hair, wearing a peasant frock and hurrying about its business.

The feelings in Ilsenhoon's mind were alien to him. He wasn't sure what they were... he'd heard humans talking of love, of course, but such concepts were beyond him. It felt more like guilt than anything, he'd have to guess.

He watched it work as his cart rolled on its way. Memories of the human flooded his mind. He saw it laughing and running through the woods, he saw it during a candlelit dinner, he saw it during an... intimate encounter. That part actually made Ilsenhoon shudder a little bit. Humans reproduced so... messily. It's completely inefficient, he thought. Better to be Illithid, fertilizing your own larvae is much easier.

Another memory entered his mind, the human holding its child. Others congratulating the couple, many remarking on how it looks like its father. That point was moot to Ilsenhoon; all humans looked the same, so of course it would look like its father.

He climbed off his cart for a moment, making his way through the crowd towards the widow, conflicting emotions within him.

Memories continued to erupt in his head. He remembered the hunt for the husband now. He was indeed a bandit in the area... but seeing the situation from its side; it didn't have much of a choice in the matter. It did it to care for its family. Ilsenhoon could understand that, certainly.

The hunt flooded his mind. He saw it from both points of view simultaneously. As the bandit, he ran through the woods, fleeing the hideout which now housed only corpses and a monster. He knew he shouldn't have signed on with the crooks, but he had to. He stalked the bandit, fresh on the psychic vibe of fear it gave off. He'd just taken out the rest of his friends, just one loose end left. They ran. He tripped over a root, giving his predator a chance to catch up. He caught up to his prey, tentacles splayed and lamprey-mouth wide. He felt strong tentacles wrap around his skull, holding him painfully tight; he felt his tentacles constrict against the bandit's throat. He felt a horrible pain in the top of his head, sharp, dull and everywhere; memories became jumbled, incoherent; he sucked the brains out quickly, eager to leave the bandit camp behind.

He pushed the corpse away and strode away.

The confusing memory faded, leaving Ilsenhoon face-to-face with the widow. He pulled out a bag filled with clinking gold coins and pressed it into her hand, before pushing his way back to his cart.