On the second day of Han's new adventure, a cold morning reminded him of the events he had been forced to flee. He left his makeshift bed and walked to the bonfire his maids had set up. Denver huddled so close to the flames he looked ready to hug them. The night was too cold for him. Everyone else handled it well, except the slaves.
Even so, Han's maids hunted plenty of food. They cooked meat and prepared edible plants gathered from the forest. Heaps of meat and greens piled up, proof of how reliable they were.
"You could start a restaurant with this much food, Han," Denver said casually as he took his plate of meat and greens.
He wolfed it down.
Han sat on a log Hanna had cut and crossed his legs. "A restaurant? Well, a restaurant run by maids doesn't sound that bad, given how my maids will soon look."
