Torghan stared down at the wooden platter that constituted his dinner, fighting a losing battle to keep the mask of diplomatic stoicism from slipping. The meal looked less than the savory banquet he had been used to while in yarzat.
Is this truly the sustenance that once fueled my dreams? he wondered, a bitter irony settling in his gut. I have grown soft. I have been pampered by the silk and spice of the Sun Land until I have forgotten the grit of my own cradle.
He watched the servant, a lithe, trembling girl with eyes like a cornered doe. It was painfully obvious that Korgas had sent her as a secondary course, a peace offering intended to satisfy hungers that mutton could not reach. She set the final vessel on the low table with hands small as leaves
"Tässä on ateriasi," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the crackle of the hearth as she placed the steaming goat's milk between the two meager portions of stringy mutton and shriveled berries.
