"Give it to me. I'm hungry."
"You can't be serious. How many times are you going to wake me up at midnight because you were hungry? You are doing it every day now."
"It's not my fault! It's your fault. Why do you cook so good?"
He looked at her in disbelief.
After all these years, Moraine now looked to be in her early twenties.
She had grown into a stunning beauty.
So much so that half the customers at the tavern came just to look at her.
He had to beat up the ones who got too handsy or too disrespectful, and it happened at least once a week.
And yet this same woman had kicked down his door in the middle of the night, shaken him awake, and whined for food because her bottomless stomach wouldn't let her sleep.
Moraine kept trying to snatch the plate from him, but she had the strength of an average woman.
She had no chance of overpowering him.
He only gave her the food when she reached the verge of tears.
When she took the plate, he rubbed his face and sighed.
