Luciel took a cautious sip from the wooden ladle, then frowned.
"No salt… tastes pretty bland," he muttered.
Still, the tomato broth wasn't bad. The soft red fruit had dissolved into the water, giving the soup a bright color and a sweet, tangy flavor that made his stomach growl. It was simple, light — and surprisingly refreshing.
He poured the broth into three bowls, set them on the rough-hewn table, and added thick slices of roasted meat beside each.
"Dinner's ready!" he called out, glancing over his shoulder. "Go wash your hands first."
"Wash… our hands?" Elara blinked.
The white-haired girl looked genuinely puzzled, as if he had suggested something outrageous. Then she turned her palms upward — blackened by ash, dirt, and streaks of dried sweat.
"…Oh." She frowned. "Maybe you have a point."
"Wash our hands?" Mino echoed. The rabbit-eared girl wiped her forehead with the back of her hand — and instantly left five grimy streaks across her face. "Do we really need to?"
