Serala wanted to ask more questions, but the warm bowl in her hands was pulling her attention away.
It looked to be some sort of soup, chunks of meat and roots floating in a broth that had been seasoned with herbs she didn't recognize. Leaves of something green and faintly luminescent drifted on the surface, releasing an aroma that made her stomach clench with sudden hunger.
When had she last eaten?
Her stomach churned with demands that her dignity tried to suppress, and it failed spectacularly.
Before she knew it, she brought the bowl to her lips!
The stone was rough against her hands, unpolished and unshaped. She should have asked for a spoon or something to eat with properly. She should have maintained the composure expected of someone of her station.
Instead, she began to drink as if she had been starving for weeks.
