The Skyrend Frost Vulture gave another deep grunt, its voice echoing through the icy cavern. Its feathers rustled as if in irritation, but this time it didn't shove him again. Instead, the piercing gaze it fixed on him seemed to say: 'Yes. You finally understand.'
"Geezz…" Gilgamel let out a shaky sigh of relief and muttered under his breath, "This senior really scared me to death."
Still, he was glad—at least it didn't seem like he was going to become food stock… or worse, a cook.
Forget about being food stock. Who in their right mind would be willing to end up like that?
But being a cook was just as terrifying.
He simply couldn't cook.
If he messed up a dish, wouldn't that just enrage the Skyrend Frost Vulture and make him food stock in the end anyway?
Carefully, he turned his attention back to the strange, living cloud of smoke. He took slow, cautious steps forward, each crunch of his boots against the icy floor.
