“...And that’s what it’s doing,” she said in a hushed voice. “It’s already halfway done. Do we just wait for it to finish?”

“It’s a better idea than trying to interrupt the process,” Zelsys responded with faux authority. Spliteye let out a sigh of uneasy relief, blinking a couple times as her pupils contracted. Before she could suggest a further course of action or really say anything at all, the tan woman shot upwards with a vigorous proclamation of “Well, no point in just sitting here. You said there was soup?”

“Y-yes,” the blonde stuttered in response, briefly staring straight ahead before she looked up to meet Zelsys’ gaze. “I think there was uh… A spare mess kit somewhere around here,” she continued, stepping past Zelsys to get at one of the wall lockers, eliciting an ear-splitting screech from its hinges. She looked its contents up and down and reached in to pull out a mess tin, utensils rattling within as she handed it over.

Zelsys took the kit with a smile and a nod, making her way out the door and to the firepit. She heard the locker screech and slam shut behind her, followed by a mutter of “Just hope it isn’t as unpleasant as it looks…”

As she walked towards the firepit she was met with the sight of Sigmund using a stick to stoke the embers, his bald head glistening in the warm heat of the fire. It was getting progressively darker, yet the overall visibility had barely changed since they arrived - the moss that covered the trees and parts of the ground had begun to glow in pale shades of chartreuse, bestowing the camp with a truly serene atmosphere. Sigmund met her approach with a smile as warm as the campfire, rising from his seat as he set down his stick and reached for the ladle.

“It’s getting a bit thick, but it’s still good,” he rasped through his beard, stirring the pot while Zelsys approached, fishing the three utensils out of the mess tin as she went. He already had a ladle-full raised above the pot when she reached him, and so she just reached out to let him fill the tin. The soup was a dark brown, with its recognizable ingredients including lentils, carrots, and a mixture of salted pork and deer meat. It smelled good, if rather salty.

“Where’d you get the carrots?” she asked as she sat down on one of the stumps, setting the knife and fork in her lap before she scooped up a spoonful of the soup. Sigmund answered with a point towards the transport, sitting back down and reaching for his stick. “We grow ‘em behind there,” he explained, stoking the embers again. “Same as the lentils. The soil’s unnaturally fertile here, makes it easy.”

The soup was thick, the flavor of spices, umami and salt drowning out all others as she chewed on the gamey deer meat. Each spoonful brought a sensation strikingly similar to that of absorbing pure Viriditas, so rich a meal it was.