Sweet and pungent.
Old fingers probe a stomach, as though the swollen flesh were a pocket full of the best rye.
There is a jar full of crunchy turquoise colored leaves. A veil of dried apple grass.
A ring of thick Quilylonian turnips, yellow-green and fat, hangs from a low wooden beam darkened by stains.
So many stains.
Her fingers touch his prostrate form and feel along his flesh.
“I knew you for so long,” she murmurs, taking a moment to stare at his face and brush his hair with her bony fingers. “…but you did not know me, almost, though it has been only a short time since you left your granddaughter with me and told us to run. It is a conundrum, to be sure!”
Weaving her thin elbows underneath his head, she settles his limp upper body at her breast and twists slightly so that he leans back into the crook of her arm.
Then she places one of those hands inside her greyish belt pouch and pounces about. She is searching for Arkytior’s old wooden spoon. After some digging, her hands grasp the smooth polished stem of the eating utensil. She folds her palm over it, takes it out from her pouch and sets it to the stark grey-wood bowl she found earlier in the spatial cupboards.
From the bowl’s circular confines, the stifling aroma of meat stew wafts up- it’s rare young Dornbeast mostly, plus some yellow waxy vegetables, the greyish meat having been chunked and marinated with just a dash of pepper and sautéed in mineral-rich Telachtian fish oil. The eyes of the Dornbeast, containing the metal Bizmuth, an elemental ingredient in Gallifreyan vitamins, have been dried, salted and stuffed with a tasty berry wine cheese of white color called Furlishke.