Ren sprinted down the corridor, the clay pot held out in front of her like a bomb that was about to detonate. The smell of the gumbo—spicy, rich, and meaty—wafted through the halls, acting like a pied piper's tune.
Behind her, a small army of snake beastmen poked their heads out of alcoves, flicking their tongues at the divine scent. They followed at a distance, their curiosity warring with their survival instincts.
Syris met her at the intersection leading to the dungeon. He had found a fresh black robe to cover his indecency, though it was tied loosely, leaving his chest bare.
He inhaled deeply, his nostrils flaring as he looked at the clay pot in her hands.
"That smells..." Syris's amethyst eyes widened, dilating with hunger. "really good."
"It's the gumbo," Ren panted, her face slick with sweat. "Move! We're losing time!"
