Cyrus set the bowl down carefully in front of Ilyana, steam rising in fragrant curls. He gave a small nod toward Isabella. "I'll be back in a bit," he said, brushing a hand through his red hair before turning and striding off toward the trees, his broad back disappearing into the dappled shadows.
"Oh, it smells so good," Ilyana whispered, taking a deep whiff of the rising steam as she sank down beside Isabella. Her long hair swung forward, catching the last slivers of golden-orange light slipping through the trees. The setting sun bathed the clearing in a warm glow, casting long, drowsy shadows around them. Her nostrils flared again. "But… it looks so strange."
She peered into the wooden bowl nestled in Isabella's lap, her nose scrunching up like a curious squirrel. The soup inside looked thick and murky, dark brown from the mushrooms, with tiny bits of meat bobbing near the surface. Fat droplets floated on top, glistening like beads of oil.
