Basil broke his fast with an orange. After a night where the darkness had felt thick enough to swallow him whole, he had craved some sweetness.
Since there was no honeyed cake to be found in a fortress recovering from a siege, the sharp, bright spray of citrus would have to suffice.
He peeled it with trembling fingers, trying to pry away the segments without letting the juice erupt. It was a futile effort. A stray bead of zest stung his eye, and he cursed under his breath, wiping at the irritation with anger.
He didn't savor the rest; he ate the wedges whole, swallowing the pulp as if he were trying to bury the memory of the dream under the weight of the fruit.
Even the sweetness could not settle the hollow ache in his gut.
