The forest swallowed us whole, trees clawing at the sky with gnarled branches, their leaves rustling like whispers in the fading light. My boots sank into the damp earth, each step a soggy squelch that matched the thudding in my chest. Garr marched ahead, his sword clanging against his armor, hacking vines with a grunt every few paces. Lina trailed him, her robe snagging on thorns, muttering curses about "godforsaken wilderness" under her breath. Tev ghosted at the rear, bow slung over his shoulder, his sharp eyes scanning the shadows. And me—Baru—I stumbled along in the middle, head down, hands stuffed in my pockets, the cracked spoon jabbing my thigh with every move. The razorclaw lumbered behind us, its massive paws thudding soft and steady, yellow eyes glinting whenever I dared a glance back. Tamed by a muffin. Insane.
I still couldn't shake the taste of those berries on my fingers—sharp and sweet, like cherries kissed by lightning. The juice had dried sticky on my skin, a scarlet stain I couldn't scrub off in this muddy mess. My mind churned, spinning recipes despite the ache in my legs. Reduce them with heat, mash them into a glaze, pair them with that dough—tarts, maybe, or a crumble if I could find nuts. Anything to keep these lunatics from dragging me deeper into whatever this was. "Camp's close," Garr bellowed, snapping me out of it. "Move your skinny legs, Baru!" My face flared, and I mumbled a weak "Yeah," barely audible over the wind. Skinny? I wasn't that scrawny. Not that I'd say it out loud.
The trees parted suddenly, revealing a clearing—a ragged circle of trampled grass and charred logs, ringed by jagged stones. A camp, or what passed for one. Tents sagged under patched canvas, a rickety cart creaked in the corner, and a cold firepit sat dead center, ash piled high from nights long past. Two new faces popped up as we trudged in: a wiry man with a patchy beard, sharpening a dagger by the cart, and a girl no older than me, red hair braided tight, stirring a pot of something gray and lumpy over a fresh flame. "Garr, you're late," the man barked, not looking up from his blade. "And what's that?" He jerked his chin at the razorclaw, which huffed and flopped onto the grass like an oversized rug.
"Brought dinner," Garr grinned, clapping my shoulder hard enough to make me stagger. "This kid's a damn miracle. Fed that beast a snack and shut it up." My ears burned, and I shrank back, wishing the ground would swallow me. Miracle? I'd just panicked and thrown dough at it. The girl by the fire squinted at me, green eyes sharp under freckled brows. "He don't look like much," she said, voice blunt, stirring her pot with a wooden ladle. The smell hit me—stale oats and something sour, like week-old stew. My nose wrinkled before I could stop it. "Oi, don't make faces," she snapped, pointing the ladle my way. "This grub's kept us alive."
"Alive's generous," Lina muttered, brushing dirt off her robe. "Tastes like despair." The wiry man snorted, finally standing—shorter than Garr, but lean and quick, his dagger twirling in his hand. "Kev's the name. Scout and stabber. That's Mira," he nodded at the girl, "our cook—well, was, 'til now." He eyed me, smirking. "Heard you've got tricks, pretty boy." My throat tightened, face blazing. Tricks? I didn't ask for this. "Uh… not really," I mumbled, staring at my boots. Garr laughed, a booming sound that rattled my skull. "Not really? You turned a razorclaw into a lapdog! Show 'em, Baru. Cook something."
Cook? Here? My stomach twisted, but my eyes flicked to the camp's meager supplies: a sack of lumpy grain, a crate of those speckled eggs, a rusty pan half-buried in the dirt. The berries I'd stuffed in my pocket were mostly mush now, staining my fingers red, but a few bushes near the camp glowed with more—ripe, plump, begging to be picked. Kev raised a brow. "Well? Don't just stand there blushing." Mira crossed her arms, skeptical, her ladle dripping gray sludge. Tev said nothing, just leaned against a tree, watching me like always. The razorclaw snorted, rolling onto its side, its massive snout twitching toward me.
I wanted to bolt—run into the woods and never look back—but Garr's grin pinned me in place, and Lina's "don't disappoint us" hiss didn't help. Fine. I shuffled to the firepit, knees shaky, and dug the pan out of the dirt. It was dented, blackened, but it'd do. The flames were weak, so I tossed in some dry twigs Mira had stacked nearby, coaxing them into a steady blaze. The heat licked my face, familiar and safe, and my shoulders loosened just a fraction. People were chaos; fire wasn't.
"Eggs," I muttered, holding out a hand. Mira blinked, then tossed me three from the crate, her aim sloppy—I barely caught them, yolk nearly splattering my shirt. "Grain too," I added, quieter. Kev hauled over the sack, dumping it at my feet with a thud that kicked up dust. I knelt, cracking the eggs into the pan—yolks thick and golden, pooling like liquid sunlight—and mixed in a handful of grain, coarse but workable. My hands moved on their own, years of pastry contests kicking in, though I'd never faced a crowd this loud. "What's he doing?" Mira whispered, leaning closer. "Shh," Tev hushed her, eyes narrowed.
I darted to the bushes, snagging a double handful of those glowing berries—warm to the touch, juice bursting under my grip, staining my palms a vivid scarlet. Back at the fire, I mashed them into the mix, the sharp tang cutting through the smoky air. "Reduce it slow," I murmured, stirring with my spoon, watching the berries bleed into a thick, glossy jam. The grain soaked it up, softening, while the eggs bubbled at the edges, binding it all together. No oven, no molds—just a pan and a prayer. I flattened the mess into rounds, letting them sizzle on the hot metal, the scent rising fast—sweet and tart, with a buttery undertone from the eggs, like a bakery blooming in the wild.
The camp went quiet, save for the fire's crackle and the razorclaw's low huff. I flipped the rounds—berry pancakes now, golden-brown with crimson streaks, edges crisping into a delicate crunch. My voice slipped out, soft but firm: "Ten seconds more, hold the heat." I didn't care who heard; the food mattered, not them. When I slid the first one onto a flat stone, steam curled up, carrying that scent—rich, warm, a promise of something better than this muddy hell. The second followed, then a third, stacking into a wobbly tower of red-streaked gold.
Garr broke the silence, lunging forward. "Gimme!" He snatched one, burning his fingers but not caring, and shoved half into his mouth. His eyes widened, then rolled back, a groan rumbling from his chest. "Gods above," he mumbled, crumbs spraying. Mira grabbed the next, hesitant at first—then bit in, her freckled face freezing mid-chew. "This… this ain't food," she whispered, "it's magic." Kev swiped the last one, tearing into it like a starved wolf, juice staining his patchy beard. "Better than gold," he rasped, licking his knuckles clean. Lina hovered, snagging a piece from Garr's hand—her smug mask shattered as she tasted it, a tiny moan slipping out before she could stop it. Tev took his time, breaking off a corner, chewing slow and deliberate. He nodded once—high praise from him.
The razorclaw lumbered over, snout twitching, and I tossed it a spare pancake. It caught it in mid-air, jaws snapping shut, then flopped back down, purring like a cat with a bellyful of cream. My face burned hotter than the fire—too many eyes, too much noise. "More!" Garr roared, grabbing my shoulders. "You're feeding us every damn night, Baru!" I yelped, stumbling back, but Kev and Mira chimed in, "Yeah, more!" Lina muttered, "Unacceptable to stop now," while Tev just stared, expectant. I shrank against the cart, stammering, "N-No more… not enough…" My voice drowned in their cheers.
But they wouldn't let up. Garr hauled me to the fire, plunking me down like a prized hen. "You're our cook now, kid. Official." Mira dumped the crate of eggs at my feet, grinning for once. "Better than my slop," she admitted, tossing her ladle aside. Kev clapped my back—lighter than Garr, but still bruising—and Tev handed me a fresh handful of berries, silent as ever. The razorclaw huffed, curling closer, its warm bulk brushing my leg. I wanted to vanish, melt into the shadows, but my hands twitched, already reaching for the pan. More berries glowed in the bushes, crates of eggs sat untouched, and the grain sack loomed heavy. They liked it. They needed it.
I took a shaky breath, stirring the flames higher. "Uh… okay," I mumbled, barely audible over Garr's boasts—"Wait 'til the guild hears about this!" My mind raced, louder than my voice. Pancakes were just the start—tarts, cakes, something bigger. This camp was a dump, these people a nightmare, but that scent, that taste—it was power. I glanced at the razorclaw, its eyes half-closed in bliss, then at the glowing forest beyond. Maybe I wouldn't just survive. Maybe I'd bake this world into something mine.