Luna was washing perilla leaves as rice simmered in the clay pot, the air thick with the enticing aroma of cooked grains.
She looked up when she heard the suggestion, "Let's braise the lamb racks with soy sauce, I just picked fresh wild scallions and perilla."
Rhys Blackwood had appeared who knew when, walking to the stone slab, picking up the cleaver and deftly slicing the lamb meat.
The firelight cast a warm glow over his cold, sharp profile, as if gilding an ice sculpture in soft gold.
Corbin Crowley wasn't idle either, crouched outside the hut peeling string beans.
Zeke Veridian stoked the fire in silence, cheeks reddened by the flame, a few locks of hair plastered to his sweat-damp forehead.
Soren Phoenix and Kian Sterling, both notorious for shirking chores, stood one left and one right beside Luna—one dabbing her sweat, the other fanning her.
Luna rolled her eyes, exasperated. "Can you two stop crowding around me? If you're really that free, both of you go peel garlic."
