Marron walked through the pine-shadowed streets of Whisperwind, her steps steady, the basket of warm sausage rolls tucked carefully beneath one arm.
The bundle of food was still warm, and though it had been carried through town, it hadn't lost its magic. The scent of roasted apple, browned sausage, and sage oil clung to the cloth like a promise.
She clutched the envelope with the recipe in her other hand, ink still faintly scented from the cinnamon bark she'd used as a writing rest.
Marron found the Lord Jackal sitting on a stone bench just outside the longhouse council, his fur cloak laid across his shoulders like a second pelt. His ears twitched at her approach, but he didn't look up until she stood before him.
"Lord Jackal," Marron said with a small bow, offering the basket.
He blinked. Then smiled, slow and deep, the way someone might smile after recognizing a scent from their childhood. "Is that for me?"
She nodded. "A gift. For your hospitality—and for letting me sell rice balls in your town."
At the mention of rice balls, he huffed a small laugh and gestured for her to sit beside him. "Portable, remarkable little things, those. Did you know half my morning patrols bought them before reporting in? One said it tasted like their mother humming while preparing lunch."
Marron flushed. "I didn't mean for them to taste like anything except food that wouldn't fall apart."
"Sometimes," the Lord Jackal said, peeling back the wrap on a sausage roll, "the simplest intentions hold the strongest truths."
He took a bite. Immediately, something shifted in his face—his sharp eyes widened, then softened. He paused mid-chew, closing his eyes.
"The apple," he murmured after a moment, his voice thick with surprise. "This taste… there's only one place I know that grows apples this sweet. Where did you find these?"
Marron hesitated, then offered the truth in a quiet voice, like sharing a soft-spoken memory.
"One of the wolfkin traded them to me. In return for the teriyaki chicken onigiri. I'd… be willing to share a few of the seeds. If the source stays a secret."
The Lord Jackal studied her in silence, then gave a slow nod. "I know who gave you the apples."
He reached into his cloak and pulled out a carved wood token. "That wolfkin is my son, Klein. He works with a young snakekin girl. Together they trade meat for fruit. The apples come from Snakekin Cove, and those trees are beloved. Sacred, even. This is no small gesture."
Marron sat with the weight of that knowledge for a moment, then offered a soft smile. "Then it's good I plan to give them a basket too. And a copy of the recipe. I met one of them. She asked to learn how to cook, so she wouldn't have to steal anymore."
The Lord Jackal set the sausage roll down reverently. "You taught one of them to cook?"
"I did. She listened."
For a moment, his eyes—so often cool, unreadable—looked as if they might mist.
"If you keep this up, human," he said gently, "the old rivalries might not outlive us after all."
He glanced at the basket, then toward the hills beyond the trees. "If you're looking for more contests and sharper tongues, try heading east. Lumeria might suit you. Flashy city. Competitive. Especially when the idol chef is performing."
"I'll keep it in mind," Marron said with a smile, rising to her feet.
She left the recipe with him, and he bowed his head slightly, a rare gesture of respect.
As she walked back toward the inn, the sun warming her back, she felt a strange, joyful steadiness. Like the roots of something finally finding their home in the soil.
And far behind her, the Lord Jackal took another bite of the sausage roll and let the warmth spread—not just through his chest, but through something older, something hopeful.
A flavor that tasted like peace.
+
When Marron returned to the inn, the light had shifted to that golden, lazy warmth that came just before afternoon truly took hold. She was content—bones tired, but not from weariness. It was the kind of full-body calm that came from doing something meaningful.
Mokko and Lucy were already there, the food cart safely tucked near the room's corner. The moment she stepped in, Lucy gave a delighted ripple in her orb and wobbled over, surface shimmering a happy butter-yellow.
"Back in one piece," Mokko said, nodding as he set a folded cloth over a basket of root vegetables. "Lord Jackal like it?"
"He did," Marron replied. "Turns out one of his kids traded me those apples."
Mokko raised an eyebrow, but before he could say anything more, Marron noticed something missing.
The second basket.
Gone.
She walked to the low table where she'd left it, recipe and all, and found only a bundle of soft cloth wrapped with a silk-threaded ribbon. Inside were three seed packets, neatly labeled: peaches, apples, and oranges. The script was elegant, old, and serpentine.
Beneath them lay a handwritten note, the paper thick and textured with the faint scent of moss and flowers.
Your recipe was divine. I was greatly moved by the perfect ratio of spicy sweetness from the meat. You created something good out of what was gifted, and that is a rare trait among guests.
Thank you for using our fruit. I have given you more seeds from our orchard's heart. May you plant them where they will grow strong.
— Her Grace, the Snake Queen
Marron held the letter for a long moment. Something stirred behind her ribcage—something proud, but also quiet. Like being seen after a long time of hiding.
Just then, a knock.
When Marron opened the door, she found Klein on the threshold. The young jackal-wolf hybrid was half out of breath and smiling, a sausage roll in his paw.
"Thank you for your help," he said, tail wagging slightly behind him.
Marron smiled and stepped aside to let him in. "And thank you for the apples. They were so delicious I couldn't help making something with them."
"They're special to us," Klein said. "I'm glad you honored them."
He took a slow bite of the roll, eyes fluttering shut for a second. "Maya's the one who tends the orchard. She's my snakekin friend. It's her life's work."
"Maya," Marron echoed gently. "That's a lovely name."
"She's clever. Brave, too. But the way things are, we still have to meet in the shadows." He looked down at his half-eaten roll. "Maybe… one day that won't be the case."
"Maybe one day," Marron said, meaning it. "Would you like some tea?"
Klein nodded, and soon they were gathered around the low table. Lucy rested nearby, contentedly pulsing a soft lavender-pink.
Marron poured warm citrus tea into handmade clay cups and gestured to the packets on the table. "These seeds… would it be alright if I left them to you and Maya to grow? I'd like to help Whisperwind however I can. If fruit came regularly, I could make better food. You'd get the first taste, of course."
Klein's ears perked. "You want us to grow it for you?"
"For Whisperwind. For yourselves. All I'd ask is a few deliveries to my cart."
He smiled, and it was a bright, toothy thing. "We'll make a new section of the orchard. A patch just for the Wandering Chef."
Marron laughed, touched despite herself. "That's a high honor."
"And it'll help us," Klein added. "We can sell fruit to other villages once we have enough. Fresh fruit is rare out here. You've given us more than you realize."
He leaned back, tail curling around his boots. "If you're thinking about leaving soon, I know the next place. Lumeria. That's where you'll want to go if you're chasing the big cooking stages."
"Lord Jackal mentioned it. Idol chef, right?"
"Emily Spritz," Klein confirmed. "She's got charm and style. Knows how to work a crowd. Fantastic technique. But…"
"But?"
"I always leave just a little hungry." He shrugged. "Something about it feels… performative. Less like food, more like theatrics."
Marron sipped her tea thoughtfully. "Then maybe it's worth visiting. I don't want to copy her. I just want to experience her cooking."
Klein nodded. "It's at least two weeks on foot from here. But after what you've accomplished, Whisperwind will let you pass without question. You have fed both of our clans and taught Maya how to cook."
The last of the sausage roll vanished in his hands, and he stood, brushing off his tunic. "If you ever need help from the orchard again, just send word. We'll answer."
And with that, he left, his steps light as someone who had just delivered good news.
The light through the inn window shifted, touching the seed packets with a warm glow. Marron looked at them for a long while, imagining the fruit trees they could become.
Trees that would last for generations to come, and bear fruit that would feed her customers and the wolf clan.
She ran her hand across the table's wood, where her journal still rested.
Fifty souls fed.
A forest watching.
A road ahead.
And now, seeds.
Real ones.
And the kind you can't see—but grow just the same.