While he was loathed to let anyone have the pleasure of distracting him from his meal, Maryev couldn’t help but notice even the graveyard had a high rate of foot traffic passing by, including a young Hylian girl who wisely gave him a wide berth and more importantly never attempted conversation. Did people have no respect for the dead, he wondered. Not that he particular cared for some long dead and rotting Sheikah corpses, if he remembered correctly from his studies in his youth, but he had specifically chosen to loiter by the graveyard in the off chance that the people in Kakariko had some form of standards of decency and would leave him in peace.

Alas, luck was not on his side, and the people of Hyrule were just as shitty as ever. He finished his meal and tossed the bone and last sinews of flesh into the bush somewhere, where perhaps a small child would choke to death on it. He sighed contentedly. That was the fullest meal he’d had in days, and he didn’t have to scavenge it.
Suddenly, a feeling of unease crept over Maryev and he looked up and around cautiously, mindful of the sword and shield resting at his side. Perhaps the proximity of the graveyard was giving him thoughts of Poes or ghosts or other such nonsense, but this felt like much more than a childish spook of the imagination. This felt like standing on the battlefield and wondering if the enemy had an archer trained on you that very moment. The Darknut knew the odds of that here were unlikely, unless those cheap balsawood bows he had seen children running around shooting wadded arrows pitifully about 5 meters at their fellow runts were far more lethal than expected. 

As if his mind were capitalizing on his unease, something caught the corner of his eye like an apparition appearing. He grunted, shut his eyes to give them a moment’s reprieve and then looked over where he had seen the apparition of his imagination.

What he saw was decidedly not imaginary, not unless the mutton was drugged with hallucinogenic, which would handily explain why people seemed to be enjoying the dreadful festival. It was also now that he realized that the bone he threw was now being held aloft by what looked like an orange hand of hair. What did the butcher sell him? If he were sober enough, he’d march back and demand answers and potentially more of his wares. Maryev’s ghost decided to speak then, immediately ruling out the hallucination theory. This one was far too lucid.

“Do you make it a habit to sneak up on people and then fondle their scraps?” Maryev demanded. “And any plain fool can see you aren’t Hylian, or at least aren’t now. So tell me, specter, why have you decided to rub my refuse all over yourself and interrupt me? I have a difficult enough time tolerating things I am able to hurt. It remains to be seen if you fit into that category.” He thought about the way the ghost phrased something. “So. You figured out the obvious that eludes most of these people that I’m not one of them. Now why don’t you go bother that blacksmith down the hill? Him and his child deserve a good spook. I am not interested.”