The clearing was quiet, save for the crackling of the makeshift stove and the occasional whistle of the wind weaving through the trees. Lucien stood by the stove, humming a tune under his breath, his hands busy stirring the contents of a battered pot. The smell of roasted herbs and spices mingled with the crisp scent of the forest, creating a sense of fleeting calm.
A few paces away, Kah'el crouched low, his knife glinting in the dappled sunlight as he worked with precision. The animal in his hands was already skinned, its meat being sectioned with methodical care. His movements were deliberate, as though the task itself were a ritual of focus and control.
Lucien glanced over his shoulder, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Careful, Kah'el," he called, his tone light. "That poor thing looks like it owes you money."
