Pawpaw.
He smiled lopsidedly as he remembered the name, dredging it from so deep in his mind that he was afraid of drowning in the memories.
When he was younger, his mother would make him eat it. He never liked the smell of it, but he came to appreciate the subtle sweetness.
He looked down at her, still writhing, as he tongued the blood from his palm.
“Yes”, he decided. “Like pawpaw.”