The kids are getting cooking lessons from Wraithvine and Bibrid. -- BKF
[AN: Following on from Signed, Sealed, Adopted ]
Scramble and Chance had learned the most important things about living in the wilderness. How to make shelter if they had none of their own. How to make fire even when magic was unavailable. What plants and animals were reliably edible more than once.
Now they were learning how to cook it.
One thing that could very rarely fail was stew. Except one eager child was fireproof and heat-resistant. Chance was living evidence for how the Hellkin got all those rumours about them in the first place.
Bibrid hadn't been anywhere near the first Hellkin when they were exiled from Human settlements. He'd heard horrific things, of course. How they ate ashes, anything they could get their claws on, and for a garnish, the blood of innocent babies. That sort of blood libel was eagerly spread about any of the Unwelcome People over the millennia.
After the fifth time Chance eagerly snatched some half-cooked meat right off the spit and gobbled it down, Bibrid could fit that into the rumours. Then again, Chance was starving for most of his life, and never let food escape his sight. Patience was a concept he was still learning.
The hungry, the desperate, and the fireproof could snatch very rare meat from a fire an cram it down before anyone chased them off. Too desperate to care how unnerving they looked to their pursuers.
In those ancient devilborn's defence, the pursuers had made their minds up in advance.
Bibrid, on the other hand, had the time and opportunity to teach his little Hellkin savage some manners. "We use spoons, dear. So we need to chop the meat up so it's one mouthful." He kept the knife away from his adopted son, not just for Chance's safety.
Chance's enthusiasm also included weapon use. That was just one reason why he was only allowed blunt instruments. The other reason was that he called combat 'play'.
Most of the typical parental chiding fell flat with a toddler who just might have been raised by wolves.
The best option, Bibrid had found, was gentle correction. "We wear shoes, dear," or, "It's better to wash with our clothes off," and, "Biting is rude, sweetie."
This time, in answer to Chance's Why?, Bibrid answered, "It's polite to chew our food with our lips tight together."
"Why?" said Chance.
Oh lovely. He was up to the Why Game. "Nobody wants to see anyone masticate," he said, and smirked as Wraithvine choked on hir water. That was a joke that neither of the children would get until puberty hit.
When Wraithvine finished coughing and gasping, ze said, "You fiend."
"What's funny?" said Chance.
"I'll explain it when you're older."
"Why?"
Sigh. "Ask me after the bedtime story," said Bibrid, thanking the gods for children's lack of persistent memory about such things. "For now, let's focus on how to safely chop up a gourd for the stew..."
[Photo by Árpád Czapp on Unsplash]
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