And The Forest Whispers

7

Shion stood over the cauldron, reveling in the scents of freshly cooked beef and vegetables. He'd been saving the meat for a special occasion—preserving it with his magic—but tonight seemed as good a time as any. When would be the next time Shion had the honor of hosting a guest?

          As he stirred the concoction, gently lifting the ladle and admiring the large chunks of potato, he listened to the sounds of Nezumi breathing from the other side of the cabin.

          After Shion had finished stitching his arm, he'd bandaged up the injury and instructed Nezumi to lay down and get some rest. Nezumi seemed uneasy about laying down in a stranger's bed, but Shion assured him he'd be on the other side of the cabin, cooking some stew for them to eat.

          Shion smiled. It wasn't the first time he'd started cooking at night. Sometimes, when anxiety plagued him, he boiled some water and mixed in herbs to craft a sleeping brew.

          Cooking stew was a much bigger beast, but Shion had already spent the evening chopping the vegetables and meat to put together in the morning. He was simply freeing himself some time.

          Nezumi hadn't said much since Shion finished cleaning and dressing his wound. When Shion cleared away the needle and spool of thread, he'd heard Nezumi murmur, "Thank you."

          He hadn't stopped smiling since.

          Shion gave the stew a few more stirs before ladling a bit into one of the clean, stone bowls he kept on the nearby shelf. Steam drifted into his face; Shion inhaled the comforting scents of herbs and exhaled, content.

          Cooking wasn't too different from putting together potions, and Shion had picked up a few tricks from his mother. He felt a surge of pride as he fetched a spoon from the drawer and turned to face Nezumi.

          He'd finally stretched out on the cot, resting on his back. He seemed to be favoring his uninjured shoulder, cushioning the bandaged one of the pillow. His eyes had been closed; the moment Shion took a step forward, they flicked open, silver glinting in the dim blue light, and darted in Shion's direction.

          Shion took another step forward, holding the bowl of stew between them like an offering. "I made you something to eat," he said softly.

          Nezumi looked at the bowl, and then back at Shion. "What did you put in it?"

          "Potatoes, some beef, and a few vegetables from my garden."

          Nezumi narrowed his eyes.

          "You can't honestly believe that I would take the time to stitch your wounds if I intended to poison you."

          "I don't know where your interests lie."

          Shion closed his eyes and huffed. "If it'll make you feel better, I'll taste it first." He went to dip the spoon into the dark brown stew, but Nezumi made a sound in the back of his throat. Shion looked up. "What?"

          "If you did poison it," Nezumi pointed out, "you'd probably use something you're immune to."

          "I'm... not immune to poison."

          "No?" Nezumi raised an eyebrow. "Strange."

          Shion pressed his lips together. So his magic was different than what Nezumi was accustomed to. Shion had anticipated as much, given the strange symbols etched on Nezumi's boots and woven into the lining of his cloak, but to think that the witches Nezumi knew were immune to toxins?