The morning after their small, defiant campfire, the team woke up in a room that smelled faintly of woodsmoke and roasted meat. It was a wonderful, illegal, and deeply comforting scent. The five perfectly made beds were now arranged in a messy, circular fort, a clear violation of the room's intended aesthetic. The air still smelled faintly of woodsmoke and roasted meat—a wonderful, illegal, and deeply comforting scent.
The comfortable quiet was broken by Pip, who was peering out of the single, seamless window at the perfectly orderly city below. "So," he said, his voice a nervous whisper. "What's the plan for today? Are we… are we going to try for scones again?"
"NOBLE QUEST FOR SCONES, PART TWO!" Sir Crumplebuns declared from his guard post by the door, his Spoonblade held at the ready.
