He shook his head, forcing his attention back to the matters at hand.
The scouting party. The war that loomed like a shadow over every decision the tribe made now. Who knew when it would break out?
He lifted the bowl to his lips, blew gently across the surface, and took a mouthful of the warm soup.
The taste wasn't overpowering—instead, it carried the subtle complexity of various herbs mingling together. They lent the stew a texture he hadn't encountered before, something new and unfamiliar.
Though it was quite good, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was missing, as if the dish could be elevated with just a hint of sourness.
Something sour…
He smacked his lips, letting the lingering flavors settle on his tongue.
Then his gaze drifted to the sour fruit resting on the table beside him. He reached over, grabbed one, and sliced it cleanly in half.
