"One decision," Mira said. "One bad season and one decision that nobody wanted to be the first to walk back from." She was quiet for a moment. "It took three hundred years to get here again."
Faelyn looked at the silver pots, at the cooking space, at five thousand people who had eaten together today.
"Three hundred years," she said.
"And a blessed one with a recipe guide," Mira said, and the thing in her voice when she said it was the closest Mira ever came to warmth and Faelyn had learned enough to recognise it now.
'Five,' she thought. 'That is five.'
[I counted,] Puffball said.
ฅᨐฅ ⚞ • ⚟ ฅᨐฅ
Elder Grath found her as the afternoon wound down.
He walked up, set his empty bowl down in front of her, and looked at her.
"Sensible," he said.
Faelyn looked at the bowl. Looked at him. "Thank you."
He nodded once and walked away.
[Was that his version of a standing ovation?] Puffball asked.
'I think that was his version of everything,' Faelyn said.
ฅᨐฅ ⚞ • ⚟ ฅᨐฅ
