Osiris stood in the doorway like a starving bear begging for scraps.
Except the scraps were made by a woman who wanted to throw him off a cliff.
The small stone hut they had been given glowed faintly from the bioluminescent moss lining the inner walls.
Soft cool blue light reflected off the smooth stone floor. Strange vine-like roots hung down from the ceiling, swaying gently like they were alive.
Outside, faint forest noises whispered through the cracks. A cool mountain wind hummed low, almost musical.
The air smelled like soup.
And Isabella's annoyance.
She sat on a woven mat by the fire pit, Glimora curled beside her like a fuzzy gremlin queen. A pot of stew simmered beside them, steam curling up in soft spirals. Isabella had already served herself and her beast, both bowls fragrant with herbs she found earlier.
The moment Osiris whispered, "I am hungry," the air changed.
Isabella didn't look shocked.
She didn't look impressed.
She looked tired.
Spiritually tired.
