As Jahree went about his routine patrol, he contemplated deeply on the words of his captain. The captain had promised that if they remained disciplined and followed or-ders, their regiment would be relocated to the more desirable southern locales of Sen-gan or Veslin. However, Jahree knew that his group was not quite the genteel type to fit in with the urban setting of those southern cities. The idea of relocation appealed to Jahree. Some of his fellow soldiers, Tellic and Jahan, would particularly welcome the change as the southern climes offered relief from the biting cold and heavy snows of their current posting. However, there was a catch; these cities already had a large military presence, and it was likely that their assignments in such places would differ vastly from their current ones. Deep down, Jahree harbored no illusions about their fate. He suspected that Cap-tain Trema’s words were merely motivational rhetoric to maintain order and discipline. Their current posting was unfavorable, and Jahree knew that they were not heading south anytime soon. His only hope was that Marn hadn’t yet realized the deceptive nature of their captain’s ploy. Lanni was the only one of the house staff to catch Jahree’s eye. He seldom had opportunities to mingle in the local town, limiting his encounters with women. Papa Tey had a strict opinion on the matter, preferring that Jahree kept away from any romantic dis-tractions. The rest of Jahree’s comrades seemed to share similar sentiments but for their own reasons; Trema, for instance, set a standard of professionalism that he hoped the oth-ers would emulate. Zan, who was deaf, mistakenly believed that his hearing impairment would make him unattractive to potential partners. Jahan, who was happily married, was wholly dedi-cated to his wife and never once considered being unfaithful to her. Tellic’s reluctance stemmed from a fear of unintentionally causing harm due to his own strength, while Shan’s shyness held him back from pursuing any romantic endeavors. Jahree often won-dered whether his singular status was attributable to his heightened auditory sensitivity. Or perhaps because he was a mage and they had spent their whole time of service in Yar-ba. Regardless of location or his personal circumstances, Jahree understood the im-portance of his service. He resolved to fulfill his duties with diligence, enjoy the occa-sional company of women discreetly, and look forward to completing his six-year service term. Despite his initial ambitions to become a cooper—a path that was abruptly inter-rupted by conscription—Jahree was now uncertain of his future occupation and destina-tion. The possibility of returning to his hometown of Thager was impossible. Considering alternatives, he looked at Veslin or Paosij as potential new places to start afresh. In these moments of reflection, Jahree remained open to the array of possibilities that awaited him post-service, though the concrete steps he would take remained a blurry vista. As Jahree paused before the closed kitchen door, the habitual sliver of light crept from beneath, a familiar sight suggesting Lanni’s wakeful nights. But had there been an additional flash? Concern propelled him forward. Upon entry, the kitchen revealed only Lanni. “I thought I saw a transport flash,” Jahree said, scanning the room for any signs of unexpected visitors. “Just me here,” Lanni responded nonchalantly, looking up from her task. “I was just warming up some Lanish stew for Tell before I turned in. I’ve got fritter batter I’ll fry up for you when I wake. It’s apple but I put some aside for you. I hope you like blueber-ries.” Jahree nodded in appreciation. “I love blueberries.” “That’s good to hear,” Lanni smiled faintly. Jahree hesitated. “But you don’t have to make special dishes for me.” “Of course, I do. I wouldn’t want you going hungry,” she insisted. “But still…” “Don’t worry about it. It’s not much trouble. Plus, you’re not alone in requiring a special diet,” Lanni remarked, her hands busy with the last of her evening kitchen duties. “For instance, I can’t have coffee or horse meat.” Jahree looked perplexed. “No horse?” “Ever tried Sai’s horse stew?” Lanni inquired, her voice tinged with a hint of en-vy. A smile crept onto Jahree’s face at the memory. “That stew is incredible.” Lanni nodded. “It is. But I can’t eat it. I was pledged to a dragon once and his favorite food was horse. He had a particular fondness for horse stew, the kind Sai makes.” “You were pledged to a dragon? What happened?” His curiosity was piqued, as it was apparent from her solitary presence that they were no longer pledged. “He died,” she replied simply, a shadow passing briefly over her face. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he offered sympathetically, noting the weight of her loss in her terse response. “Thanks,” she acknowledged, her expression stoic, yet the gratitude evident in her tone. “Is that why you came to this… place?” He caught himself before any disrespect-ful description could slip from his lips, opting for a more neutral term. “No, not really. I needed work and they needed a cook here. It ended up being a good fit for both of us,” she explained, indicating the arrangement was purely practical. Jahree sensed there was more to her story but chose not to delve deeper. He too had a past he was not eager to revisit. As she continued to stir the pot, she took a moment to sample the concoction. With an approving nod to herself, she ladled a generous portion into a cup. “Want some?” she offered a tinge of camaraderie in her voice. Approaching with a mix of curiosity and trepidation, he accepted the cup. His friend Tellic had always spoken highly of the brew, eager to find anyone who could pre-pare it well. Nonetheless, he had also overheard less than favorable critiques. Bracing himself, he took an experimental sip and immediately gagged, an involuntary spurt eject-ing the liquid onto the floor. His sinuses erupted with a fiery sensation, tears brimmed his eyes, and his tongue seared with the unexpected spiciness. “Here,” she said, extending a glass of water towards him. Eager for relief, he downed it hastily. “How can you drink that?” he gasped be-tween coughs. “It’s an acquired taste,” she sighed, a hint of a wry smile on her lips. “For a while, that’s all the trolls would give me. They thought it was hilarious to starve me, then offer that as my only reprieve. I’d cough and gag in desperation, but when you’re that thirsty and hungry, you’ll try to drink anything. Often, I’d vomit it right back up. And let me tell you, it’s even worse on the way out. Eventually, though, I made myself enjoy it. After I managed to escape their clutches, I found myself craving it. So, I learned to make it.” Her voice trailed off as she lost herself in the bitter memories laced with resilience, and Jahree could do nothing but admire her strength. Lanni’s story surprised Jahree. It wasn’t what they had done. Tellic had talked about what he called the old ways. This fit in, but for her to tell something that personal to someone she barely knew. She carefully poured the remaining Lanish into a wineskin and secured it with a cork. “Would you like me to take that out to Tell?” he asked. “It might be good for you to get some rest.” “Thank you,” she replied as she handed him the skin. “I hope to make it a habit to have it ready for him before he starts his shift in the future.” “I’ll pass that along. Have a good night,” he said. “Night,” she responded with a nod. Tellic’s face broke into a wide grin when he was presented with the wineskin. Without hesitation, he took a hearty swig. “How can you drink that stuff?” Jahree inquired with a hint of disbelief. “It’s quite good. Want to try some?” Tellic offered, unfazed by the question. “I had a sip. I was convinced I would need to attend my own memorial service af-terward. What exactly do you put in it?” Jahree probed further. “The recipe is a bit of an odd mixture: tea, lemon juice, honey, horseradish, cay-enne pepper, and a dash of cinnamon. It usually includes a bit of whiskey too, but I’m on duty,” Tellic explained. “That stuff could strip paint,” Jahree remarked wryly. “Possibly, but it’s excellent for keeping warm on cold nights,” Tellic contended. “I think I’ll stick to my coffee, but thanks,” Jahree said, expressing his preference for a more conventional warm beverage. “Mishpat,” Tellic chuckled, teasing Jahree in the troll tongue which Jahree understood to mean “baby”—more specifically, an adult exhibiting childish behav-ior. In a playful retort, Jahree shot back, “Chetnish,” calling Tellic an invalid in the same language. Both men chuckled at their light-hearted exchange and continued on with their patrol duties. #fantasy, #magic, #dragons, #hiddenlands