Marron drank the last of her tea and cradled the warm mug in both hands. She heard Mokko and Lucy cleaning up the crepe pans and mixing bowls, and gratefulness filled her heart.
It really is nice not to be the one who cooks for a change.
Being in the kitchen and in charge of what they ate gave her sincere joy, but there was something nice about somebody else feeding her.
Marron sipped the last of her tea, cradling the warm mug in both hands as Mokko and Lucy cleaned up the crepe pans. The light filtering through the pine-slat windows was soft and yellow, the kind that usually meant it'd be warm but breezy out.
For the first time in a while, there was no immediate pressure—no frozen cities, no Culinary Guild politics, no caravan whispers of danger.
And in that quiet, Marron realized something.
She hadn't felt the shadow in hours.
Not since she returned from the forest.
It hadn't watched her pack up her cooking supplies. The shadow hadn't flickered on the edge of her vision either, or whispered questions through her food.
"...Where are you?" she murmured, almost to herself.
Lucy tilted slightly, curious, but didn't glow with alarm.
That was strange, too.
Marron opened her system with a thought.
There was a ping.
No—several.
And one long-scroll notification she'd slept through completely.
[Quest Update: "Teach Instead of Feed" — Complete]
[The Snakekin Shadow has returned to the Cove and taught your recipe to others. Emotional imprint was retained. Memory resonance detected in food prepared by another. You have gained:
+20 Reputation: Whisperwind
+20 Reputation: Snakekin Cove
Reward Unlocked: Expanded Cart Storage (Tier 1)
[You may now store +5 additional ingredients or food bundles in your cooking cart. Custom compartment installed overnight via Shadow Aid™.]
[So far, dear host, you have fed 50 hungry souls.]
[Feed 50 more and unlock your first Legendary Recipe!]
[You're doing beautifully, chef.]
Marron blinked, eyes wide. "Fifty…?"
She hadn't been keeping count.
Hell, she'd forgotten there was a reward.
She just wanted to feed whoever was hungry.
Unlocking something legendary sounded like too much responsibility. But somehow, the thought didn't scare her too badly.
Maybe she could learn something new from a recipe people in Savoria considered legendary.
She smiled at the message.
"Fifty more, huh…"
Her gaze drifted to the ingredients they'd received from yesterday's barter—the bundles of meat, jars of oil and spice, the soft red apples nestled in cloth.
The apples were from them, weren't they?
From the snakekin's friend in the orchard.
She tapped a finger against the rim of her mug thoughtfully.
"I think I want to make something as a thank-you," she said aloud. "For the Lord Jackal. For being a decent host. For not trying to control me like the others."
Mokko raised a brow from the kitchen. "That's new."
Marron smirked. "I'm allowed to say thank you."
She flicked open her system's recipe journal. Her fingers slid across a memory she hadn't visited in a while—one from Earth, tucked between weeks of exhaustion and takeout dinners. But her mom had made it once, and she'd never forgotten the taste.
Chorizo Apple Sausage Rolls.
Spicy, warm, flaky. Sweet with a heat that hit just enough to wake you up. Perfect with cider or tea. A celebration food.
She opened a new recipe draft in her journal.
"Spicy Apple Sausage Rolls"Ingredients:• Ground meat (mana-boar or cluckbird)• Chopped red orchard apples• Sage oil and forest pepper• Puffroot flour dough• Egg glaze• Optional: shredded mint-leaf, whisper salt for finish
She looked at the apples again, red as rubies, with juice that stained her fingers like wine. The meat Mokko got from trade was rich and savory—perfect for balance. She'd have to work fast to get the puffroot dough proofed and rolled.
But she didn't just want to cook it.
She wanted to share it.
She pulled two small envelopes from her writing pouch and copied the recipe by hand—one for the Lord Jackal, sealed with a pressed leaf, and one for the snakekin friend, tucked into a wrap of waxed cloth.
When she held both envelopes in her hands, she exhaled slowly.
Two paths. Two stories. And both had started with one simple thing: someone hungry, someone watching, someone hoping to be taught.
The scent of warm crepes still hung faintly in the room.
"I'll get started," Marron said, rolling up her sleeves.
Behind her, her food cart clicked open with a soft hiss of air.
The new compartment was already waiting.
A perfect fit for what came next.
+
There was something about rolling out dough that calmed Marron's heart.
She dusted the clean countertop with flour—fluffy and pale like new-fallen snow. The puffroot dough was already resting in a covered bowl, warm and pillowy from the gentle heat of the kitchen hearth. She rolled it out carefully, dividing it into long rectangles.
Cooking today didn't feel like work.
It felt like a letter.
Each motion—chopping, folding, seasoning—was deliberate. Hopeful.
She sliced the sweet red apples into thin half-moons, their juice staining the wooden board with a deep, earthy pink. The moment the apple hit the pan with sage oil and crushed forest pepper, it sizzled gently, releasing a scent that made Lucy glow gold and drift closer in her orb.
Marron added the ground meat, stirring slowly. The aroma turned savory and complex—the richness of spice melding with fruit's tang. When she tasted a bit with a wooden spoon, her heart swelled.
Gratefulness.
It tasted like gratefulness.
The puffroot dough wrapped the filling like a secret folded into parchment. She brushed each roll with beaten egg, then scattered whisper salt and crushed mint-leaf along the tops. And as she placed the rolls onto the stone baking tray, she whispered softly:
"May this feed someone who gave me safety."
She wasn't sure who she was saying it to. The forest. Her system. The lingering shadow. Her mom.
It didn't matter.
When the sausage rolls came out of the oven, steam curled from their golden crusts. The scent of roasted apple and sage filled the kitchen and trickled beneath the inn's doorframe.
She felt the warmth of the magic as she wrapped them—six in each pack. The food shimmered faintly with a pinkish hue, like the aura of a meal made with good memories, not grief.
She placed one wrapped bundle into a woven cloth pouch, tying it with simple string and tucking the envelope of the recipe inside.
The other bundle she set aside on the table in their room, alongside the second envelope.
"For the snakekin," she murmured. "If they want it."
Mokko entered just as she finished knotting the string. He paused in the doorway, the scent washing over him like a story being told in reverse—apple harvests, smoked meat, afternoon sun.
He whistled under his breath. "Smells like someone cooked with their whole chest."
Marron laughed. "I might've."
He eyed the two wrapped bundles. "Where are we taking that one?"
She picked it up carefully. "If it hasn't already been taken by our shadow friend, we're bringing it to one of the wolfkin. The one whose friend got me those apples."
Mokko raised his eyebrows. "The same snakekin friend you went to meet?"
Marron nodded. "Yep. I visited them yesterday. Taught them how to cook with fire and oil. We traded stories. They're the one who showed me where those apples came from."
She glanced over her shoulder and added, sincerely, "Thank you for taking care of our stall, by the way. I know it's not your job."
Mokko shrugged, but his ears twitched with something between pride and embarrassment. "Someone had to stop Lucy from giving away freebies to people who just smiled at her."
Lucy swirled in mock outrage, then wobbled into a pink spiral.
Marron gave the wrapped roll bundle one last check. She didn't know if it would reach the Lord Jackal directly—but it would find the right person. Just like her food always did.
"I'll be back in a bit," she said.
Then she stepped out into the forest light, her gift warm in her arms.