Smoke curled gently from the grill stationed just outside the gates of Solvish Keep, the scent of roasted blood and spice curling through the night air with a familiar warmth.
Charishe's fingers twirled a skewer absently, her tall fox-like ears twitching with idle rhythm, while Voille loomed nearby—silent, gargoyle, composed.
The Blood Cakes hissed on the iron grating, and Charishe leaned in with satisfaction.
"See?" she muttered smugly, flipping one of the cubes. "Works every time. Nobody resists the scent."
Voille inclined their skull-shaped head faintly, the internal blue flame flickering beneath bone. "The wind changed. You relied on instinct, and it was correct."
Charishe nudged their ribs with an elbow. "Just admit it was genius."
The next moment, the air thickened with an unnatural weight.
An immensely unnatural weight, yet divine and gentle.
Soil flickered, air breezed with warmth, all sorts of plants emerged into existence like an unrolled carpet.
