There was so much he could not explain to her with words. He was not eloquent enough, not well-versed with the language. Larkspur could not explain what it was he trusted in Sirius, why he obeyed the law of this place with such devotion. It was too much to put into words; he had shed blood for his King, watched the Boss bleed and lose his own tail for such faith. Eris he loved, in his own way, and she was an extension of Sirius, of Salsola, of this place he had come to believe in and follow without doubt.
He chuckled behind a mouthful of fish and swallowed loudly. “Before she came here, Rowan was trained to cook. She uses dried plants and dried sea-water to make it taste like this.” Behind them, the slave gave no indication that she was listening besides the tilt in ears when her name was mentioned. She was obedient in the ways of subservience and found that the title of “slave” did not much change her purpose here. “She told me that once winter begins, the fat on animals tastes even better after being over a flame.” Another loud crunch and the remaining half of the fish was swallowed practically whole.
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