"Can you help me stir this porridge for the next five minutes?"
Lethia nodded and took over the spatula from Zeran, continuing to stir. However, her eyes followed him with worry. Derreck's voice in the distance sounded urgent, like something had gone wrong.
She sighed, kept stirring the pot, and rubbed her stomach gently.
She knew this calm morning, this fluttering peace in her belly, was nothing more than a brief escape.
Once she returned to Ashenhold, there would still be so many things waiting to be dealt with.
Varrel's downfall was only the beginning of a chain of events before the ranch would fully be hers again.
The council, the elders, the staff, even the people living there, Lethia wasn't sure if they would still accept her.
The porridge was boiling, and five minutes had passed. She turned off the stove and looked for bowls. Should she serve it now?
