The sun filtered gently through Whisperwind's canopy as Marron pushed up her sleeves and offered, "Want help with that?"
The owlkin was tall and reed-thin with wide golden eyes. When they tilted their head at her, Marron was amazed their glasses didn't fall off. Their cart was filled with plastic wrap-covered dough bowls and herb bundles. Unfortunately, their canopy collapsed in on one side, so the entire setup was lopsided.
"…You're the human cook," the owlkin said. Their voice was mild and extremely cautious.
"I'm also pretty good with rope," Marron replied. "May I help?"
There was a pause—then a slow nod.
Together, they hoisted the support beam back into place. Marron tied off the knots, tested the tension, and smiled as the owlkin's canopy straightened and held.
"Thank you," the owlkin murmured. "You didn't ask for anything."
"I didn't do it to get something," Marron said, brushing flour off her hands. "But I wouldn't mind trying that herb focaccia when it's ready."
For the first time, the owlkin smiled—just a small, blinking upturn of the eyes. "Come back later. We'll trade."
Her next stop was less graceful.
A badgerkin woman sat on a shaded bench near the water fountain, a worn shawl draped around her shoulders. Marron recognized her from earlier—one of the ones who turned away when she arrived.
Now, the badgerkin stared listlessly at the water, a small woven basket at her side with nothing inside.
Marron hesitated.
Mokko hovered at her elbow, silent.
Then she moved.
A few minutes later, she returned from the cart with a shallow bowl of warm duck broth with wildroot noodles. The scent curled into the air—rich, savory, comforting.
The badgerkin looked up.
"I don't have anything to trade," she said flatly.
"I know," Marron replied. "That's okay."
She offered the bowl but didn't press any further. After a long pause, the woman took it, her hands trembling slightly as she lifted the spoon. The first sip made her eyes close. She didn't say anything more—but she didn't look away from Marron again, either.
Marron just smiled and sat nearby, saying nothing.
Later, as the day stretched thin and shadows grew longer, she heard a splash near the fountain.
A tiny, flailing shape—barely larger than her palm—fluttered in the water.
"A bird!" she gasped, rushing over.
It was a fluffy little finch, wings soaked and struggling. Marron carefully cupped it out of the fountain, wrapping it in the hem of her sleeve. She rubbed it gently, whispering reassurances until the tiny body stilled and began to shiver less violently.
"You're okay," she murmured. "not hurt, just cold."
The fountain square wasn't as empty as it had been. A few beastkin lingered nearby. Marron saw eyes on her again—not cold this time, but thoughtful.
That evening, as the first glow-lanterns flickered on and Marron began to clean up her quiet, customer-less stall, three beastkin approached.
A bear cub, a lean dogkin boy, and a porcupine girl no older than fifteen—all awkward, curious, clearly dared into visiting.
"Are you the one with the stew?" the porcupine girl asked.
"That's me," Marron said, gently drying her hands.
"We heard…" the bear cub shifted nervously. "Kael said he hunted really well after he ate it. Like, cleared a whole trapline before noon."
"That stew was warm," the dogkin added. "He said it made his chest feel like home."
Marron swallowed a lump in her throat.
"Well, today's special is duck-fat fries and Sparkling Joy Soda. Want to try?"
They pooled together a handful of dried berries and a packet of pine-mint sticks. Marron accepted it with a grin and slid over the fresh paper bowls of crisp, golden fries drizzled in duck fat and a little crushed rosemary.
They took their first bites with suspicion—then widened eyes and muffled sounds of pleasure.
"Hot," the bear cub mumbled, "but like… hug-hot."
The dogkin finished his cup of soda and blinked. "Tastes like river wind."
"I didn't know potatoes could do that," the porcupine girl whispered.
Marron leaned on her counter, hands warm against the wood. "Glad you like it."
+
When her potential customers slowed to a crawl, Marron took the chance to check her current stats.
Ding!
[Cooking System Notification]
Customers Served: +3
Beastkin Helped: 3/5
Reputation Tier: 1 (Known to Locals)
Feedback: "Your food sparks courage."
Unlockable Feature Available: Recipe Log (Cost: 100 Gold)
"Ten gold?" Marron raised an eyebrow. "How much do I even have left?"
[Gold Balance: 120]
"…Oh."
She tapped the counter thoughtfully. "It might be worth it...?"
But she didn't press purchase—not yet.
"Let me see what kind of recipes I'm actually making first."
She glanced at her cutting board, still stained faintly from the fries. "I need a way to remember how these ingredients taste. What I made with them. I'm not going to have a magic fridge with labels forever."
Mokko handed her a small bound notebook, weathered but clean.
"I found this behind the bread cart," he said. "She said you could have it."
Marron turned it over, heart warming. "Guess we start our own recipe book."
As the last rays of sunlight faded and Marron started folding down the canopy for the night, a soft voice cut through the quiet.
"You're the one who helped Widow Brin."
Marron looked up. A foxkin woman stood before her, elegant and composed, holding a thin wooden card between two fingers.
"I am," Marron said, wary but polite.
"She told me you gave her broth without asking for anything."
"I didn't do it for a reward."
"I know." The foxkin stepped forward and placed the card on Marron's counter. "Take this to the Cedar House Inn. It's not much, but it's clean. Tell them I sent you."
Marron stared. "I don't even know your name."
"You don't need to. You're one of us now."
+
Cedar House sat at the edge of the village. True to its name, it did smell like cedarwood, but also warm straw. It was a modest and moss-covered place, but it was the first time Marron lay in a bed since she landed in Savoria. For her, it was a five-star experience.
Their room was small—just two beds, a basin, and a window facing the treetops. But when Marron stepped inside, she felt a knot loosen in her chest she didn't know was there.
Mokko tested the mattress, then gave a single, satisfied grunt.
She smiled, sat on the windowsill, and stared up at the stars peeking through the canopy.
"I think today," she said softly, "we've finally arrived."
+
The cart was parked in the backyard, near the outdoor kitchen. In the darkness beneath the cart, something shifted.
A small gelatinous shape—barely larger than a peach—shivered against the wheel.
It had watched the fries. It had seen the steam. It had felt something stir.
It wanted to belong to someplace, and have meaning in its life.
And to be surrounded by delicious flavors.
The tiny slime quivered.
Maybe… maybe this is the one.