The cooking space gradually grew noisy, firewood was dragged closer and clay pots were rinsed.
The fish were divided into two neat piles and laid out on palm leaves.
Even those who had nothing to do lingered nearby, pretending to scrape roots or wash stones while secretly watching.
After all, food was serious business any day.
If this human truly knew something new, it might mean fuller stomachs.
If she failed, then Dana would never let her hear the end of it.
Ningning crouched down beside her share of the ingredients.
There were about 30 fish in her section.
Several yams and sweet potatoes.
About three baskets of wild greens.
Nothing fancy and very primitive.
She rested her chin lightly on her palm and thought for a moment.
Then she said quietly, "Doudou, open the cookbook. I was thinking of making some kind of Chinese food."
A familiar voice answered lazily in her head.
[Opening.]
Recipes flashed past one after another in the system interface.
