Marron woke to the faint clink of porcelain and the sound of water boiling. They hadn't managed to fully explore the remaining buildings after repairing the inn's roof. But they did make it inside one of the bakeries. It was near the edge of town and had been well-maintained before being abandoned.
This was where they turned in for the evening, and it seemed like Mokko grabbed some tables and chairs. They were in the back of the bakery, near the oven. No matter what happened, Marron could always wrangle a bit of comfort from a kitchen.
+
It smelled different today — not flour and yeast, but something floral and strange.
When she walked through the doorway, Mokko was at the counter with a battered kettle, pouring vivid blue liquid into three cups. Lucy was already there, perched on her favorite stool, practically vibrating with contained excitement.
Marron lingered at the doorway for a moment before walking in. "Morning," she said, her voice a little rougher than she intended. She sat across from Lucy and wrapped her hands around the cup Mokko slid toward her.
The tea's steam curled between them like it had been waiting for someone to speak first.
Marron took a slow breath. "Lucy… I'm sorry I snapped at you yesterday."
Lucy's glow wavered. "I didn't know putting the lemon in too early would make the tea taste bad inside."
Marron blinked, then turned toward Mokko.
He shrugged innocently.
"What do you mean by that?" Marron asked.
Lucy bobbed, little ripples forming at her edges. "Mokko said sometimes you need to wait before you add things, or it messes up the recipe. I thought leaders saying yes was the sugar, but I guess it was the lemon."
Marron felt the corner of her mouth twitch upward. "That's… actually not a bad way to put it." She lifted her cup, and Lucy extended a tendril to touch it in a clumsy sort of cheers.
They sipped together. The tea had a slightly floral taste, but it was pretty mild overall. She reached into her food cart and grabbed some wildflower honey to add a little sweetness. And slowly, she felt the knots in her shoulders loosen.
Halfway through her cup, Marron froze. "Do you smell that?"
Mokko tilted his head. "Smell what?"
"That." She gestured vaguely toward the bakery door. "Smells like warm bread. Sweet, even. Maybe the baker added butter?"
Lucy's glow brightened. "Yes! It's like a hug for your nose!"
They sniffed again. The scent was faint but distinct, curling in from somewhere beyond the commons.
Marron frowned. "We haven't baked anything today. And so far, this is the only place we've seen with working ovens."
They exchanged a look. Then, without really deciding, all three set down their cups and stepped outside.
+
The smell grew stronger as they made their way down a narrow side street. The cobblestones here were cracked, weeds pushing up through the gaps. Old shops sat with their shutters closed and signs weathered to illegibility.
This is the kind of area I'd need builders for...from the Lord Jackal, the Queen, or even from another city.
Lucy bounced ahead, declaring, "A hidden bakery spirit is calling us!" Mokko grunted. "There's no such thing as a bakery spirit."
"I'll prove it," Lucy said, zooming forward. Marron laughed, but was a little concerned about Lucy's lack of self-preservation. She supposed it was just the nature of slimes.
Maybe she'd feel differently if we got her some more slime cores.
They rounded a corner, and there it was — a small cottage, its plaster walls a little worn but still intact. Smoke curled from the chimney in a lazy ribbon.
Marron pushed the door open and was immediately hit with a wall of warm air, fragrant with yeast and butter. A middle-aged rabbitkin stood at a brick oven, pulling out golden loaves and setting them on a cooling rack.
"Well, there you are," the baker said cheerfully, as though she'd been expecting them.
"You… live here?" Marron asked.
The rabbitkin nodded, brushing flour off her sleeves. "Lived here my whole life. Most folks left when the town started falling apart. But someone had to keep the smell going."
"The… smell?"
She smiled. "You fix the buildings, plant the gardens, patch the roofs — that's good work. But if you want Meadowbrook to feel alive again? You keep something in the air people can follow home."
Marron just stood there, feeling something in her chest loosen.
She offered a jar of her jam in exchange for a loaf, but the baker waved her off, nose twitching. "No, no. I've already heard about you — the feast, the rivals at the same table. I was waiting to see if you'd wander this way."
Instead, the baker handed Marron a long-handled bread peel and a cloth bag. She peered inside and saw a jar with dough inside. Her pink eyes widened. "Are you sure?"
The bunnykin nodded.
"My own starter dough. Been feeding it for years. Now it's yours. Keep it alive, and it'll keep you."
Lucy accepted the bag solemnly, holding it as if it were a treasure chest. "I'll guard it forever."
Mokko muttered, "A sourdough guardian slime. Great. What could go wrong?" but he was clearly hiding a smirk.
They walked back with the bread peel resting over Marron's shoulder like a knight's sword. The jar of starter dough was kept safe next to Lucy's.
"So...I guess flavor really is power," Marron said quietly. "It convinces people to stay. Brings them back. And sometimes it even makes them think twice about what they're doing."
Mokko shot her a sideways glance but didn't comment.
Back at the bakery, they set the loaf and starter in a safe corner. Marron brushed her hands on her apron and glanced out at the square. The bread scent still lingered in the air, faint but steady.
She thought, Maybe home isn't something you build all at once. Maybe it's something you notice when you smell it.
For the first time that week, her chest felt lighter.