First Twenty Minutes: Foundation
The knife sang as it worked, her enchanted blade responding to her intent. Six onions became perfect half-moons, thin and even. She could do this in her sleep now.
Into the pan with butter—low heat, patience. The onions hissed as they hit the hot fat, and Marron felt something in her chest settle. This was familiar. This was hers.
While the onions began their slow transformation, she prepared her stock. Hot water, broth base, dried thyme, bay leaf. The mixture came together quickly, filling her corner of the room with rich, savory aroma.
She glanced around. The orcish man was working on his pastries with intense concentration, his large hands surprisingly deft. The fox beastkin was scaling her fish with quick, efficient movements. The nervous young man was already sweating, his sauce threatening to break.
