Marron woke to the smell of warm porridge and berries drifting in from the cart. She blinked at the sunlight creeping through the shutters.
Wait. If someone else is cooking breakfast, I slept through the prep work!
It felt like someone had dumped a bucket of ice water at her.
Someone else is cooking? For once? It's like when I still had Kai.
She missed her roommate. He was sincerely happy cooking dinner/lunch for her and himself. Kai was the type of cook who grabbed a recipe off the internet and worked with it. If he wasn't there, Marron had to make something herself.
And when I was still working in sales, that barely happened.
She slid her feet into the soft sandals provided by the inn and went inside the kitchen.
Marron found Mokko, stood at the counter with a wooden spoon in one paw and some porridge stuck in his fur. Lucy then wobbled toward her, a ladle stored inside her watery form like a prize. With a triumphant bloop, she dropped it in front of Marron.
"For me?" Marron asked, smiling despite the fuzziness in her head. Lucy jiggled, which Marron interpreted as the slime equivalent of "yes!"
Mom always made breakfast, before I moved out. And then I lived with Kai for all seven years of being a sales executive.
He always made my dinner, and his lunch. But breakfast?
He works nights, so I just made extra for breakfast and left some for him.
It was give and take.
And now I can't remember the last time someone made breakfast for me.
Even when she was sick, Marron always had a recipe up her sleeve. And she did her best to feed everybody (even if sometimes, all she had energy for was cereal with milk.)
In Whisperwind, a bear and a slime had stepped into that space without asking for anything in return.
Maybe this is what it feels like to be… looked after.
+
Later, Marron stepped into the market square. The early bustle was already in full swing — hawkers calling out trades, children weaving between stalls, the scent of roasting roots in the air.
She spotted a small cluster of snakekin traders at the far edge, their scales catching the morning light. Lyra emerged from the crowd, a coil of wild herbs looped over one shoulder.
"You've started a small ripple," Lyra said, tilting her head toward the snakekin. "The dumplings from the festival? They've made it back into the Cove's gossip chain. Some want to know what else you can make."
Marron's brows lifted. "Something new with apples, then?"
Lyra grinned. "Something that makes them remember you."
+
Back at the cart, Marron rolled up her sleeves. She decided on something simple but memorable — apple crumble. No delicate dough like the dumplings, no careful braiding like the pies she'd made back home. Just fruit, spice, and a buttery topping.
She sliced ruby-red apples, the flesh glistening as the knife moved. Cinnamon and sugar followed, each grain dissolving into glossy syrup as she stirred. The smell rose up warm and sweet, curling in the air like a memory.
Without realizing it, she thought about the snakekin's curiosity, about bridging distances between people who barely spoke to each other. That quiet intention seemed to settle into the apples themselves, the way Whisperwind had begun teaching her — food could carry more than flavor.
Lucy wobbled onto the counter and began patting the oat-and-butter topping into place. Unfortunately, her "patting" was more enthusiastic in some spots than others, leaving lopsided mounds of crumble. Marron let it be. Imperfect shapes still baked perfectly fine.
When the crumble came out of the oven, Mokko taste-tested first. His ears twitched. "Richer than the dumplings. Softer sweetness."
The system chimed softly in Marron's periphery.
[Cooking Skill +2]
+
High above the square, Lord Jackal leaned on the carved railing of the terrace. Beside him stood his son, Kael, arms folded loosely.
"She's stirring conversation," the Lord murmured, eyes on Marron's cart. "Some are suspicious — they say humans always take more than they give. Others are convinced she's different."
Kael's gaze followed Marron handing a wrapped slice of crumble to a snakekin trader. "She works hard. Doesn't hoard. And she listens. That matters here."
Lord Jackal's tail flicked once. "Her efforts are bearing fruit." His tone made it clear the phrase wasn't entirely metaphorical.
+
By midafternoon, a tall snakekin merchant with scales like burnished copper approached Marron's cart. He tasted a forkful of the crumble, the steam curling upward between them.
His forked tongue flicked to taste the air, as if he was contemplating his next words.
"This," he said slowly, "we would like for the journey home."
Marron hesitated. "If I go to Snakewater Cove, I'll need Lord Jackal's permission. I won't travel without it."
The merchant's eyes narrowed, then softened.
"Few outsiders would bother with that. We will wait."
+
The audience chamber smelled faintly of cedar and cool stone. Marron stood with a covered dish in her hands, steam curling from its edges.
Lord Jackal regarded her with his usual, unreadable expression. "An apple dish?"
"An apple crumble," she corrected gently. "And… a request. Snakekin traders have asked me to visit their Cove. I wanted to ask your leave before agreeing."
He studied her for a long moment. "You're learning our ways faster than I expected. I'll admit — I have never held a high opinion of humans. Too many see themselves above us. But you…" His voice was measured. "…you seem to want to be of value."
Marron inclined her head. "I do."
"Then you may go. But remind them you are Whisperwind's ally first." His gaze shifted, distant. "And… give my regards to the Snake Queen."
Something in his tone caught at Marron's curiosity, but she didn't press. She simply nodded, leaving with the feeling she'd just stepped into a thread of history much older than her arrival here.
But at the end of the day, it wasn't her place to pry...just yet. So she smiled and said cheerfully,
"I will, Lord Jackal. Thank you."