The stew was gone.
The large iron pot sat empty in the center of the table, scraped clean by six very different appetites.
"I am going to die," Isaac groaned. He was slumped in his chair, staring at the ceiling with a look of profound regret. "My stomach has expanded beyond its structural limits. This is a medical emergency."
"It is a vegetable," Ashe retorted. She was leaning back in her chair, balancing on the two rear legs, picking her teeth with a splinter of wood she had snapped off a log. "You can't die from a potato, Isaac. It's biologically impossible."
"It was a very dense potato," Isaac muttered, rubbing his belly. "Vane cooks like he is trying to insulate us for hibernation."
Vane stood by the sink, rinsing the bowls. The water was warm on his hands.
"You need insulation," Vane said over his shoulder. "If the practical is in a frost zone, you will freeze before you cast your first spell."
"I have thermal regulation charms," Isaac argued weakly.
