After Silvara casually broadcasted his infertility problem like a town crier, Finn bolted out of the tent. He wasn't sticking around for the aftershock from Theron. Food—he needed food.
He followed the smell of roasted meat through the camp, ignoring the occasional suspicious glance from knights. He'd had enough humiliation for one day. If he didn't get some meat in him soon, he was going to collapse.
Eventually, he stumbled into what looked like a massive outdoor dining area packed with soldiers. It was chaos.
Chunkus sat alone, gnawing on a cartoonishly oversized ham—seriously, the thing was the size of a medium dog.
'Jeez…'
Lickthorn wasn't eating. Instead, she was brushing up against every knight within reach, trying to seduce them. Not a single one looked interested.
Chestelle was wolfing down food like some kind of starving barbarian, splattering chunks everywhere. Even hardened knights edged their benches away from her.
