When Marron drained the bowl, a strong gust blew toward the far-flung forest. A dozen soft hisses rang out, and then a many-bodied rustling sound.
They had still been stalking the wolfkin camp, but now--
Retreat.
The elder wolf-shaman straightened. "Snakekin spies. We're used to masking their stink. But now..." she pointed her staff toward the edge of the forest, and Marron saw its outline glow.
"...their trail is clear. You frightened them."
She bowed toward Marron, and the younger hunter wolfkin followed suit.
The elder wolf-shaman drew a circle using her staff and a portal appeared.
"And now that they're gone, welcome to Whisperwind."
+
The elder wolf-shaman led them through moss-curtained arches and a forest so thick only a few beams of light made it through the tree trunks. All of the houses were made of logs and wooden shingles and tiles. Near every family's door was a post with a scent-tag.
Marron thought it looked like a tea bag filled with fur.
The pathways were lined using stone, and there were flowers and shrubs growing in each wolf family's patch of land. Each house also had an outdoor kitchen. But that was where the similarities ended. The log houses were decorated in various ways: woven rugs, porches, fences, and even clay jars.
Every house told a different story, and all of them had curious wolves looking at them. What caught Marron's attention was how food was cooked outdoors instead of inside, safely tucked away from their snakekin rivals.
Does the portal protect the actual village? We did only see the hunters and the shaman on our way here.
Mothers, fathers, and children alike greeted the elder-shaman as they passed, and she seemed to remember all of their names.
Amazing.
As they neared the more commercial areas of the forest, the houses gave way to little stalls and bamboo plant-boxes where wheat and tomatoes grew. The log structures were now more massive, designed to hold inventory and people.
Community is one of their top values, I guess.
+
She led them into a massive structure carved from a fallen tree, hollowed out with flames and sealed with resin. There was a wood sign proclaiming "Inn."
The inn was carved from a fallen tree, hollowed by flame and sealed with resin. A long-faced maid looked up from folding linens.
"Oh, you're them," she said.
Mokko raised a brow. "That bad?"
"No. That important."
She handed Marron a carved pendant, bearing the jackal's clawprint.
"You're a guest of Lord Jackal. No coin needed while you're in bond."
Marron blinked. "Even the inn?"
"Especially the inn. We treat who he favors."
Mokko muttered something about dangerous generosity, but said no more when Lucy glowed purple with delight.
As they climbed the stairs to their room, Marron kept glancing toward the kitchen smoke drifting from the side of the inn.
I came in as a flavor someone else made. But now… what do I serve when the recipe's mine again?
+
One of the maids offered her a fennel-steamed cloth for her face.
She hadn't even considered how long it had been since she'd last washed.
Out of curiosity, Marron asked if she could visit the kitchen. One of the maids looked at her oddly, but agreed when she pulled out her culinary guild license.
"Just don't interrupt them, please. They're in the middle of cooking lunch."
"For the guests?"
The wolf-maid shook her head and smoothened the front of her dress.
"For everybody. But everyone eats in shifts."
Half of the inn's kitchen was outdoors, and the rest was nestled beneath a mushroomwood awning. There was a table next to it with some cutlery and wooden bowls, so people could grab servings whenever they wanted.
Marron saw efficiency she thought only existed in professional kitchens.
All of the cooks moved quietly, chopping, sautéing, and frying in overlapping cycles. Everyone knew what their role was, and what to make ahead of time. She looked at what they were making, inside a massive pan.
There were large tomatoes simmering like a ruby ocean, surrounded by islands made of meat. Every so often, eggs were cracked and looked like hills, dotted with onions and red peppers.
When a chef put in some crushed garlic, Marron breathed in the savory aroma and felt her stomach rumble.
One wolf took a spoon and licked it, then sprinkled on some dark green herbs that smelled like cilantro and parsley.
When she saw Marron observing at the threshold of the door and the outdoor kitchen, she waved. "Hello honored guest. You can take a bowl, you know. We're just about ready to serve."
"I...how does everyone know what to do?"
One of the wolf-women rinsed some bowls and laughed. "Lots of practice. Children are taught once old enough, and we all help each other. Wolfkin always consider the pack first, before ourselves. We couldn't survive alone. That's how scent harmony works."
"Even for guests?" Marron asked.
"Even for guests. The shaman doesn't let just anyone inside."
Beneath the rich aromas of simmering vegetables and meat, she smelled a warm and spicy undercurrent of something amazing.
Is this what memory or community smells like?
"Very different from competitions," she murmured. "Cooking for belonging."
The maid smiled faintly. "If you want to cook like us, Chef…try doing it while thinking of your own pack."
Marron fell in line before the other guests at the inn did, and received a bowl thick with tomatoes, meat, eggs, and herbs. She was given a wooden spoon and a smile.
"I hope you enjoy, honored guest."
Mokko and Lucy got their bowls soon after, and they sat in their room for a late lunch.
From the first spoonful, Marron felt like this was a moment when she learned to truly eat. The tomatoes were roasted and burst in her mouth with freshness and tang. Minced meat was well-seasoned and tasted delightful with eggs--and the yolks were runny.
I wish I had some bread to go with this. Absolutely delicious.
Beneath all of the food was a warmth she hadn't felt since Whetvale. Even a stranger like herself was welcome.
"Wow," Mokko said, and Lucy echoed his statement.
Mokko licked his bowl clean. "these wolves know how to cook. And infuse."
"They do," Marron said quietly, drinking from the provided water jug. "I only wish I could do it as well as they do."
Mokko patted her back. "At your own pace. They do have dozens of people to share the emotional load."
+
That night, on the inn's outer deck, Marron sat with Lucy curled across her lap and Mokko sharpening a knife across from her.
"I wanted to tell you," Marron said. "The Jackal invited me to a tasting. I think that means taste test?"
"Of course he did." Mokko didn't look up.
"I feel... different. Not haunted. But not clean either. Like the shadow's still there, but it's waiting for my permission."
"Well, as long as it doesn't try to possess you mid-cook." Mokko replied. He finished sharpening the knives and put them back in their cloth pouch.
"I've been thinking about what to cook. Not just to pass the test—but to say I understand this place. Food as a group event."
She tilted her head.
"Maybe... spaghetti with mozzarella cheese and meat?"
Mokko blinked. "Spaghetti?"
"I used to make it back on Earth." She smiled. "Considered comfort food."
Mokko nodded slowly. "I knew a chef who called it nest-pasta. Said it was food meant to hold you together."
Marron looked at her cart. While the wood was still weathered, it was significantly warmer than before. She thought she even saw a faint light wood color peeking through.
"I think I know what to make now."
+
The Lord Jackal's Tasting Hall was a little more formal than the outdoor kitchens, but just as cozy. There was a sign on the arch that proclaimed, "Whisperwind Bonehall."
It was a sacred longhouse for rituals, and had an area for receiving guests.
The fire pit had already been lit before they arrived—coals glowing inside a split-stone ring, the heat carefully channeled through a pattern of scent-burn runes etched into the clay.
Marron exhaled as she lowered her cart's folding work table. The wood no longer looked warped, and instead creaked with readiness.
Lucy hovered beside her, wearing a soft amber glow and a little paper chef's hat Mokko had folded while waiting.
It was an arena, and seated above them, patiently observing, were the Lord Jackal, two elder wolves, and a young woman known as a "scent-historian."
Or at least the two what her nameplate had said.
"Alright," Marron said, tying her apron. "Let's feed some beasts."