All eyes are on the throne. Well not really a throne. It's the chair adorned with love letters in the cafeteria. Tito's new fans are ogling at him.
We all sit at the same table in the mess hall and enjoy our hard earned meals. Tito isn't even hungry. He's too busy basking in the new found fame he just earned.
The skrunkly broach shines dimly as he flares his chest around for all to see.
What's so nice about it anyway?
I glean enough from everyone's covetous thoughts that there is something more to it than fame and pride, but I'm starting to think nobody really knows and it really is just superstition.
The food feels so welcoming and filling in my mouth, it's sooths my soul. Ever since I got to taste the delights of the peaks, food has been my therapy.
Eating Ghoul meat for most of your life will do that to your tongue; make it weak to the mouth watering juicy flavors of a decent meal.
