Sighing, she agrees to their terms and wanders off to the dining hall, which is now hauling away the breakfast items. She skips the wilted breakfast and heads off to Odous to see what he’s prepared for her lunch. She finds him in his kitchen, snapping orders at the sous-chefs and swatting at them with his kitchen towel. She giggles at the friendly banter and way that the sous chefs always seem to be able to fling a bit of whatever they’re preparing at Odous whenever the towel comes a bit too close.
Parking herself quietly on an out-of-the-way stool, she waits until whatever they’re preparing is passing its critical stage. Once everything settles a bit, Odous grins at her, “Ah, my most appreciative client. Your lunch is nearly ready, dear girl. Since it's Midwinter, I’ve made you a plum and venison pudding. You’ll have to tell me what you think of it. Are you ready for your vigil? Excited about taking your vows?”
“I am,” she says thoughtfully, “I seem to have found a home here with all of you. Making that situation permanent feels…right. Like I’m supposed to be here.”
“We’re delighted to have you,” Odous grins, “and I for one am glad you’ll be staying on. I get to make things that aren’t drowning in cream.”
Recalling her companions’ comments comparing her food to what the dining hall serves, Emlyn ventures a question. “Do you know if it would be possible to scale up what you make for me? To feed more of us like you feed me now?”
Snorting, Odous grins back at her, “You want to know if I can fix that slop the dining hall serves, yes? It might be possible, but I think there would be numerous inherent challenges. Making a single portion of something is easy. Making five hundred of them, three times a day, is not.”
“My people believe,” Emlyn explains, “that proper food keeps you healthy, lets you heal faster, and helps keep you in top fighting trim. What that dining hall serves isn’t proper by our standards. That’s how I ended up with you cooking for me in the first place. This was the only other kitchen here.”
Flashing him a grin, she adds, “Since you’re the food expert, I thought I’d talk to you about my ideas. I was hoping you could help me think of something to suggest to Ember that might start them moving in a better direction with the food.”
“Hmmm.” Odous murmurs, “Something small enough not to alarm them and easy enough that they’ll want to keep going with it. Let me think…. You liked the fermented cabbage. That’s easy enough to scale up, and we have plenty of cabbage in storage that needs to be used before it starts to turn. Suggest that they make that. Please have them obtain the recipe from me. I’ll scale it up for them, and I can send one of the sous chefs to show them the process. Once it’s finished fermenting, they can serve it at one meal a tenday. It’s easier than all the peeling, slicing, and boiling that they’re doing now. That should make them want to keep going with it.”
“Odous, you’re a genius,” Emlyn grins, “As long as they don’t try to serve it at every meal, I think that just might work.”
Odous pops a pan out of the oven and inverts it onto her tray, dropping what looks like a very deep-dish pie out. He sets that pan aside and grabs another off the stove behind him and ladles up a thick, dark brown, meaty gravy over the top.
“Why do you call that a pudding?” Emlyn asks curiously, “Pudding, in my experience, is a whipped combination of cream and eggs with fruit.”
“I’m not sure either,” Odous shrugs, “Where I’m from, we’d call it a meat pie, but here… It’s a pudding.”
Sorting through the already prepared desserts, he picks one out and adds it to Emlyn’s tray along with some silverware. “Now, sit over there,” he points to a small table where the kitchen staff take turns having their meals, “taste that and tell me what you think.”
“It smells glorious,” Emlyn grins and digs in.
“How is it?” Odous asks her a moment later, and Emlyn’s expression alone is enough to tell him she’s delighted with it. “Odous, it's amazing! There’s a little bit of sweetness from the plums, earthiness from the mushrooms, something a bit nutty, and the meatiness of the venison. It’s seasoned perfectly. It might even be creamy enough to make the high priest happy.”
“You finish that up,” Odous grins, pleased, “and when it's time for dinner, I’ll have a nice big thermos of vigil tea ready for you.”
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“What’s vigil tea?” Emlyn asks.
“For someone who insists on keeping with tradition, I’m shocked that you don’t know it,” Odous grins. “You sip it, and it should help you stay awake for your vigil. You might also want to take a nap between now and dinner. Your vigil begins at sunset and will continue until sunrise. With it being Midwinter, that’s a long vigil. That’s why most take their oaths at midsummer.”
Nodding, Emlyn finishes up and leaves her tray in the sink, soaking in the soapy water. “That was so good that if I were just the tiniest bit less polite, I’d have licked it clean,” she grins at Odous, who laughs and waves her off. She swipes a few carrots from his pantry and decides to head to the stables. She slips into the barn and hides her carrots. She plans to save those for the horse she’s been assigned for the journey to Benger’s home. She makes her way down the row of stalls, petting noses, scratching foreheads, ears, and under chins as each of the beasts permits.
Master Parth looks up to see her heading toward the last stall and starts to get up, but thinks better of it. Instead, he decides to watch to see what happens. The last stall is a massive dapple-grey stallion who’s proven difficult for everyone. The Temple purchased him to help improve the bloodline of their stock, but so far, he’s bitten, kicked, and head butted nearly everyone. To Parth’s unending surprise, Emlyn shoves a bale of bedding near to his door and climbs atop it, gesturing for the horse to approach her.
She takes a rag from her pocket and begins carefully wiping his face. She uses the rag almost like a curry comb, and the big beast not only permits it but seems to be enjoying it. When she’s done, the rag goes back into her pocket, and she leans against his neck for a bit, petting him and singing to him quietly. After a time, she gives him a last affectionate pat and climbs down. Shoving the bale back into its previous position, she works her way up the other side of the aisle.
Master Parth continues to watch as she approaches yet another “problem” beast. The big sorrel gelding launches himself at the stall door so hard it rattles, shoves his head out into the aisle as far as he can, and snaps at her. Instead of flinching, Emlyn tweaks his nose, gives him a tiny roar, and snaps back. The big gelding expresses his appreciation by bobbing his head up and down with his upper lip turned nearly inside out, clearly amused at her antics.
Their mutual display over, she approaches him and starts scratching under his chin, which seems to please the gelding to no end. He stands there, ears drooping sideways and eyelids drooping too. She stops after a few minutes to move on, but he reaches out and pulls delicately at her shirt, almost begging her to continue. “All right, you big lummox, just a bit more, but then I have to go. The others are waiting,” she murmurs to him. She resumes scratching for a bit longer, and when she goes to turn away, she’s rewarded with a lick up the side of her face.
Wiping her face, she continues to make her way back up the aisle, stopping to greet each horse in turn. When she gets to the mare that she’s been assigned for the journey, she goes and fetches the carrots. “You’ll make everyone else jealous,” Emlyn says, petting the horse as she munches on her treat, “but you and I are going on a long trip together. We should be friends.”
She finishes greeting the last few horses and goes to slip back out of the barn when Master Parth stops her, “How in the blazes did you get Stormflash to come to you like that? He’s been difficult to say the least.”
“Which one is Stormflash?” Emlyn asks him.
“The big grey stallion down on the end,” Master Parth replies, nodding in the direction of his stall.
“I came one day, and he was kicking up a fuss, so I started singing to him to settle him down. Once he settled a bit, I tried brushing him, thinking that a bit of brushing might help him settle some more, but he didn’t like the brush. My old horse, Rhemp (Rampage), didn’t like brushes either, so I used to groom him with a rag. I thought I’d try it on this fellow, and he seems to like it, too.”
“Boomer doesn’t frighten you?” Master Parth asks.
“The big sorrel gelding? Not really,” Emlyn replies, “He’s all show and no substance in that regard. He’s bored and wants someone to play with. I think he scares everyone else, but I’m on to his tricks, and he’s looking for some interaction, but going about it the wrong way, like some children do.”
“What would you do to settle them down?”
“I’d get Boomer a pet-a little pony, or a goat, or something to share his stall and some toys to play with. As for Stormflash, I’d groom him differently and see if that doesn’t do it. He reminds me of Rhemp. Get rid of the curry and the brush. Use a rag instead. Perhaps a bit of oil, as he seems to have sensitive skin, like Rhemp did. Rhemp didn’t like soap, either, because it irritated his skin. When I had to bathe him, I used clay, just as some women use on their faces. A couple of handfuls in a bucket of water, sponge it on, and then off to the river to wash it out. Then a bit of oil on a rag to groom him, and he was happy, prancing around the pasture showing off for all the mares. Try having some activities for them. See if the choir would like to come practice here occasionally, since I know Stormflash likes singing. Horses are smarter than most people think, and they’re herd beasts. All this isolation makes them lonely.”
At the look on her face, Master Parth sighs, “Know something about that, do you?”
Giving him an odd look, Emlyn nods, “Stormflash and I are both far from home with no way to get back.” With that, she slips out of the barn, and he watches her walk back to the temple. Emlyn hurries up the path, into the Temple, and heads for her room. She grabs her blades and sits on her bed, trying to decide if she feels like facing either her father or her grandfather at that moment.
Indecisiveness wins, and she flops back, staring at the ceiling and feeling homesick. She knows the lecture she’ll get about self-pity, so she puts the blades away for now. Deciding that she needs to do something useful, she sits up and grabs the books on military theory that she got from the library. She starts reading, and the pile of the ones she considers drivel continues to grow. So far, there’s only been one that she’d consider a keeper, and she sets it aside.