The next morning, Kaelen was awakened by a smell so familiar that he thought he was dreaming.
The smell of rice porridge cooked with minced meat, with a faint hint of wild ginger and scallions.
He opened his eyes and sat up. Beside him, Finnick had woken up since who knew when, sitting cross-legged on the grass cushion, holding a wooden bowl almost as big as his face, slurping porridge. Chloe on the boy's shoulder was also extending her tentacles toward the porridge bowl, occasionally dipping one into the porridge liquid then vibrating as if sipping it.
"Who cooked the porridge?" Kaelen asked, his voice still sleepy.
"Uncle Victor." Finnick replied, his mouth still full of porridge. "He said it was cold this morning, cooked porridge for everyone to eat to warm their stomachs. Even using the ingredients of the Golden Bull tribe. Eat it, Papa, it's very delicious!"
