The promises a man makes when he's intoxicated are clearly unreliable. The next day, Loshanda slept until noon before getting up with a sore back from the animal skin bed. Meanwhile, Purple Sable was sitting by the hearth, looking healthy, carefully gluing feathers to the Feather Crown, with a covered clay pot simmering nearby. He watched silently for a while until the woman noticed he was awake, picked up the clay pot by the hearth, and handed it to him along with a wooden spoon.
"Los! Drink soup."
"What soup?"
"Venison stew with potatoes!"
Loshand took the clay pot, opened it and sniffed, immediately feeling his appetite ignite. He scooped out a couple of spoonfuls, chewing the mushy cured venison, and asked.
"Did you eat?"
"I did... Is it good?"
"It's delicious... Yeah, best with a bit more chili!..."
