The campfire light was hazy and soft, providing a scattering of light and heat.
The light chatter and mumbles of humans around as they feasted ravenously filled the air...
Nero stared down at the bowl of thick soup in his hands, steam rising from the surface in lazy spirals.
The smell was... odd. Not bad, exactly, but not what he'd expected either.
Emif stood in front of him, arms crossed, wearing a grim expression that suggested he was bracing for criticism. "Well? It's not that terrible, is it?"
Nero shook his head slowly. "No. It's not. But..."
The bowl contained soup made from the Teargail Fungus, mixed with a few other edible herbs and plants they'd managed to forage. The result was a thick, hearty stew that looked far more appetizing than anything Nero had eaten in weeks.
"But what?" Emif asked, raising a brow. His knuckles were white around the wooden ladle he held.
