Chương 92: Research, Walls, and Cheese

James sat down in the grass because his legs had begun negotiating terms with the rest of his body. The wall blueprint shimmered above the plateau's edge, pale blue and patient, its first projected section stretching along the ground where wood and hope had once pretended to be enough. The old palisade stood behind it in rough lines, battered by weather and monsters and every rushed decision Heartroot had survived.

Beside the new projection, it looked like a fence someone had put up around a kitchen garden and then decided to use against an army. James would have laughed if his core hadn't felt like a scraped pot. Mana depletion had a flavor now. He'd learned that about himself in the last few weeks. Mild depletion tasted like metal and left his thoughts thin around the edges. Serious depletion settled behind his eyes and made his muscles feel packed with wet sand. This was somewhere between the two.

He lowered himself onto the slope, one hand braced in the grass, and let the cool blades press against his palm. Merrit, on the other hand, looked like someone had poured lightning into his bones. The young Earth Fitter paced inside the glowing wall projection with his hands moving constantly, as if he were already sorting workers, materials, and problems in the air. Blue lines washed over his face. His eyes were unfocused, but not in the dreamy way of someone lost. He was gone somewhere useful.

Somewhere made of trenches, stone courses, drainage channels, and weight.

"First trench here," Merrit muttered, tapping one glowing foundation line with his boot.

"No, start ten paces farther east. If we start here, the haul path crosses the stoneheart pile twice. Bad. Wasteful. Kharum should inspect the first stoneheart blocks. Maybe old Brakka too, if his hands are steady. Dwarves on stone sorting. Humans on fill stone. Gnomes…" He paused, then narrowed his eyes as if imagining disaster.

"Gnomes away from the unstable fragments unless someone watches them." James huffed a laugh. Merrit didn't hear him.

"Rubble storage there," Merrit continued, pointing toward a patch of open ground.

"Mortar mixing farther back. Water from the new channel if Marla doesn't shout. Need Pella for measuring. Trell for heavy set. Pella and Alder can't spare time from the hearthhouse. Unless…" He stopped, spun, and stared at the projection with horror.

"Unless the foundation line near the gate needs more timber bracing before the stone sets." Lumen bobbed beside James's shoulder, bright with amusement.

"You have created another one," the familiar said.

"You keep doing this. You touch villagers with purpose, and then they become inconveniently competent." James rubbed at his forehead.

"I'll take inconveniently competent over terrified and helpless."

"That is because you lack appreciation for peaceful incompetence," Lumen said.

"Peaceful incompetence asks fewer questions." James looked at Merrit, who had now crouched to press both hands to the ground, murmuring to the stone as if it were answering him.

"No, I think I'm happy with this." A scrape of boots over grass drew his attention. Ten Veinbound dwarves approached from the direction of the eastern longhouses, moving in a compact group. They came with tools at their belts and the stiff posture of people trying very hard to look useful before anyone questioned their presence. Their skin still held the faint, crackling lines of dormant mana beneath the surface, though a few looked less strained than they had when they first arrived.

Heartroot's air had begun working on them even before the blessings reached their names. They stopped a few paces away. All ten bowed.

"My lord," they murmured in rough unison. James closed his eyes for half a heartbeat, then opened them again. He had accepted that fighting the title was like arguing with rain. It could be done, but only if you were prepared to look foolish and get wet anyway. The oldest dwarf cleared his throat. His beard was iron-grey, braided with stoneheart shards that had lost some of their frantic talisman quality since entering the village.

"Queen..." He coughed, grimaced, and corrected himself with visible effort.

"Lady Dagna told us to come here." The small stumble did not escape James. Dagna had given up being queen. Thrain had given up being king. The Veinbound still spoke as if their tongues were walking over broken stone, trying to learn where to step. James nodded and pointed toward Merrit.

"He is in charge." The dwarves turned as one. Merrit did not notice them. He was standing inside the glowing ghost of a future gate pier, measuring imaginary width with both hands and muttering, "Too narrow. Dray beasts need clearance. Wider. Wider means stronger hinge stones. Stronger hinge stones mean deeper base. Deeper base means more digging. Fine." James pushed himself up just enough to sit straighter.

"Every morning, you gather here. You follow Merrit's instructions. Your task is the wall. Your knowledge of stoneheart matters, and Merrit will need it, but he leads this project." The old dwarf's brows rose. Several of the younger ones glanced at Merrit, then at the projection, then back at James. Merrit finally looked up. He blinked once at the dwarves. Then his entire face lit with practical relief.

"Oh, good. You're just in time." He strode toward them without ceremony, pointing as he went.

"I need two of you to walk the foundation line and tell me where the stoneheart veining wants to run. Three of you start sorting the existing pile into clean outer-facing blocks, inner fill, and unstable fragments. Someone with steady hands needs to mark anything that hums wrong. Does stoneheart hum wrong? It feels like it might hum wrong." The dwarves stared at him. Merrit stared back, suddenly uncertain. The old dwarf's mouth twitched.

"Aye," he said.

"It hums wrong."

"Good," Merrit said, immediately relieved.

"Well, not good. Useful. Come on, then." Within moments, he had them moving. The dwarves seemed startled at first, then oddly pleased. Orders, when they came from someone who knew exactly what he needed, were sometimes easier than freedom. James let out a tired chuckle and pushed himself to his feet with a small groan.

"I'll leave it to you," he called. Merrit waved without looking back.

"Yes, my lord." James shook his head and began walking away before someone found another important task for him. His first instinct was to check the Emberforge. That instinct lasted exactly as long as it took him to get within hearing distance. The southern industrial quarter carried a constant warmth now. The Emberforge breathed it into the air, steady and rich, mingling with sawdust from the workshop and the sharper smells of charcoal, metal, and wet stone.

James could see the obsidian-black walls through gaps between storage racks and timber piles, crimson veins pulsing faintly along the stone. Then he heard Varn shout something about dwarven arrogance, followed by Drogrun bellowing that a human who quenched a blade like a frightened washerwoman should not lecture anyone with a hammer in his hand. A crash followed. Then a silence. Then both voices started again, louder. James stopped in the path. He considered his duty as lord. He considered his sanity as a person.

He turned around. Lumen drifted beside him in solemn approval.

"That," the familiar said, "was a wise life choice." James nodded.

"I'm proud of myself."

"You should be. Growth is rare." James headed north instead, toward the Lorekeeper's Hall, while the forge continued roaring behind him with the music of wounded pride and metalwork. The Lorekeeper's Hall stood near the Hearth Hall, quiet and pale beneath the afternoon light. Its exterior looked humble compared to the Emberforge, though that humility felt deceptive now that James understood what slept inside.

Timber and stone formed a graceful, sturdy structure with wide windows, carved lintels, and a roofline that seemed to invite thought rather than shelter. Its blueprint had changed when completed, the mana gathering into that central crystal instead of soaking fully into the walls, leaving the building with an inward pull that James could feel before he reached the door. Inside, he expected to find Onvir alone. He found three men.

Onvir of the Umbral Weft stood at the central table, one hand wrapped around a smaller hovering crystal, eyes unfocused. His dusk-kin features seemed sharper under the crystal light, skin holding a faint shadowed sheen, silver-dark hair tied back without any care for neatness. Across the room, an elven elder James recognized from Selathi's people stood by another desk, murmuring under his breath in a rhythm almost like song. He had a narrow face, deep-set eyes, and white-green hair bound with strips of barkcloth.

At the third desk stood Rolland. James stopped in the doorway. For a moment he saw the man as he had first been: gaunt, hollow-eyed, pulled from a goblin cage along with Gisela and Erik. Gisela had taken to weapons with a ferocity that still made James's chest ache. Erik had become an Echoist, his changed voice filling the Hearth Hall with impossible resonance. Rolland, quieter than both, had drifted through Heartroot like a man trying to remember where his own hands belonged.

Now he stood beneath the ceiling crystals with a small shard of light between his fingers, brows furrowed, lips moving silently as if he were reading words no one else could see. The great central crystal hovered above its plinth, humming with mana. Smaller crystals set into the ceiling and walls flickered gently, feeding thin streams of light toward the men at their desks. The whole room felt like a mind waking up one slow thought at a time. James coughed. All three jumped.

The elven elder nearly dropped his crystal. Rolland slapped a hand over his chest. Onvir spun with a glare that lasted half a breath before recognition turned it into something only slightly less annoyed.

"My lord," Onvir said, visibly collecting dignity from wherever he had dropped it. James looked between them.

"I see the House of Knowledge is no longer waiting politely." Onvir's irritation faded into pride.

"Eiranthil expressed interest after the Hall opened properly. Rolland came the next morning and asked if we needed anyone who could remember lists." Rolland looked embarrassed but did not shrink.

"I was a quartermaster's assistant before," he said quietly.

"Before the goblins. I kept track of tools, grain measures, repairs. Small things."

"Important things," James said. Rolland's eyes flicked up, and something fragile steadied in them. Onvir lifted his crystal slightly.

"Both have already unlocked minor skills. Eiranthil has Mnemonic Chant. It helps stabilize complex patterns through repetition and cadence. Rolland has Careful Notation, which is deeply ironic given our lack of proper notation materials." Eiranthil inclined his head, expression serene.

"Words held only in the mind are birds in an open hand." James blinked.

"That sounds wise. Also stressful."

"It is both," Eiranthil said gravely. James turned back to Onvir, excitement rising despite his depleted core.

"Research trees. Tell me you started with Mana Economy." Stolen story; please report. Onvir's expression shifted. That was never good. James narrowed his eyes.

"Why do you look like that?" Onvir set the crystal down with excessive care.

"Because I have had time to study the Hall, and the answer is more complicated than enthusiasm prefers." James folded his arms.

"Hit me." Onvir winced faintly, as though the phrase offended his scholarly sensibilities.

"Research trees are divided by rarity and depth. Common foundational branches require less accumulated knowledge. Rare branches require much more. Higher tiers require exponentially more knowledge, more focused researchers, and often practical demonstrations in the village itself." James glanced toward the central crystal.

"The crystal fills as you research."

"Yes," Onvir said, pleased despite himself.

"That is a crude description, but useful. The central crystal stores structured understanding. The smaller crystals divide and reflect it. We study, compare, test, record, and internalize. Once a branch is complete, the knowledge unlocks naturally across the settlement, especially among those who work in the relevant field. Farmers begin understanding new soil rotations without needing a formal lecture. Scouts gain a sense for better route marking. Smiths adopt better heat practices.

It becomes common knowledge, anchored by the Hall." James felt his mouth part slightly.

"That's incredible."

"It is," Onvir said.

"It is also slow. We are three researchers with almost no developed research skills. Mana Economy is rare. With only us, and with our current understanding, it would take too long to be wise as a first project." James let the disappointment settle before answering. He had expected this. Some part of him had known that the most exciting answer would not be the most practical one. That did not make it less irritating.

"What are you saying?" he asked.

"I am saying," Onvir replied carefully, "that we should begin with a common tree that helps the settlement immediately. Agricultural Abundance or Scout's Horizon could be completed in roughly a week with the three of us. Forging Legacy may take longer, and Engineering Mastery appears broader than its name suggests." James looked toward one of the side windows. Beyond the glassless opening, he could see a sliver of the plateau. People moving. Smoke rising. The gardens expanded across the north.

Dwarves eating more than they thought they needed and apologizing for every bowl. Marla already calculating grain like a battlefield commander. Mana Economy glittered in his mind like a locked door to a future where every villager held a spark of magic. Food sat in front of him like a heavy bowl. James exhaled.

"Agricultural Abundance," he said.

"Magic is wonderful. Food keeps people alive long enough to enjoy it." Onvir sagged with visible relief.

"A wise choice."

"Try not to sound so surprised."

"I will attempt moderation." James pointed at him.

"That was not moderation." Rolland coughed, poorly disguising a laugh. Onvir's face turned very dignified.

"There is one more matter." James closed his eyes briefly.

"There always is."

"We need paper," Onvir said. James opened his eyes. Onvir stood straighter now, scholar's irritation overtaking uncertainty.

"Proper paper. Ink. Flat writing surfaces. Shelving. Indexing markers. We cannot hold civilization together with glowing crystals and memory forever. Research requires recording. Comparing. Returning to observations made yesterday without arguing over who remembers the shape of a sentence correctly." Eiranthil nodded.

"Memory is a river. Written words are stones placed through it." James looked at him.

"You do that a lot, don't you?" The elder seemed mildly pleased.

"Yes." James rubbed his jaw.

"Ink might be possible. We have ash from the Rockfire elemental. Lumen mentioned it could be useful for ink. I'll talk to Ilyndra about binders and mixing. Maybe soot too." Onvir brightened.

"Good. Paper remains the larger problem." James grimaced.

"That one I don't know how to solve yet."

"I may," Onvir said. James stilled. Onvir gestured toward the Hearth Hall.

"Skystalk Grain. The stalks left after harvest are similar to a plant used by one of the settlements near my clan's old routes. Their fibers can be broken, soaked, pressed, and dried into rough paper. I have seen the process. I never practiced it as a specialty, but with experimentation, I may reproduce something usable." James felt genuine joy rise through his exhaustion.

"Paper," he whispered. Onvir arched one brow.

"You seem more excited than expected."

"Paper is civilization," James said, pointing at the central crystal.

"Records. Maps. Building notes. Laws. Recipes. Letters. Ledgers. Contracts. Bad poetry. Good poetry. Lists. Marla will become unstoppable with lists." Rolland looked deeply moved by the mention of ledgers. Onvir's mouth twitched.

"I will need help."

"Ask Zook Copperwhistle," James said at once.

"He's usually in the workshop making ridiculous balls that explode, click, smoke, or emotionally confuse people. He'll either help you build a press or invent something that launches wet pulp across the room." Rolland's lips pressed together with heroic restraint. James continued, "Also talk to Pello. The gnome father who was with you in the cage. He has steady hands, and he's patient. He might be good at repetitive craft steps." Onvir nodded, relief loosening his posture.

"Thank you." James looked around the Hall, at the crystals, the desks, the first three researchers Heartroot had ever had. The place still smelled like fresh timber and stone dust, but in his mind he could already smell ink. Parchment. Drying paper. Dust on shelves. The quiet, stubborn scent of people refusing to forget.

"Start Agricultural Abundance," James said.

"And start paper. If you need materials, tell Alder, Marla, or me. If Zook makes something dangerous, tell me before he demonstrates it near children."

"That limitation may disappoint him," Onvir said.

"It will keep him alive." James left the Lorekeeper's Hall with his head buzzing and his stomach roaring. Mana depletion had teeth now. It gnawed at him as he crossed toward the Hearth Hall, making every smell sharper. Bread. Stew. Roasted roots. Something with herbs and meat that made his body consider shoving him through the door faster. The Hearth Hall wrapped around him the moment he entered. Warm air, low voices and the clatter of bowls. Firelight on wood and stone.

The building's pleasant hum sat beneath everything, that gentle sense of food and belonging woven into the walls. A few villagers sat scattered across the tables, many of them gnomes who were still finding where they fit. Some had tools beside their plates. One was asleep with his forehead on folded arms while another gnome quietly stole a root slice from his bowl. At the far end, the Echoists sat together. Amabel led them with one hand resting near her sleeping child, her face pale from new motherhood but calm.

Erik and Benalor hummed beneath her voice, and three gnome Echoists wove higher notes through the sound. It wasn't a spell song, not quite. Just a soft, layered resonance that settled over the Hearth Hall like warm cloth. James felt his shoulders drop as he crossed the room. Marla spotted him the instant he moved behind the counter.

"No," she said. James paused.

"I didn't say anything."

"You have the face of a man who spent too much mana and came to my kitchen to make it my problem."

"That is slander," James said. His stomach growled so loudly that one of the cooks looked over. Marla pointed at a stool.

"Sit."

"I was hoping to help."

"Sit helpfully." He sat. A bowl appeared in front of him with the speed of magic and the threat of violence. Thick stew, blue skystalk bread, roasted root slices with herbs, and a cup of watered berry wine. James took one bite and decided, not for the first time, that Marla deserved a shrine. As he ate, his mind wandered in a direction no council meeting had ever managed to inspire.

"Marla," he said slowly, "do we have anything like cheese?" She paused with a ladle in hand.

"Like what?" James lowered his spoon. The room seemed to tilt slightly.

"No cheese?" he asked. Marla narrowed her eyes.

"You are saying the word like I should know it." James looked down at his bread. Then at the stew. Then back at her.

"Marla," he said with terrible gravity, "we have made a grave mistake as a civilization." One of the younger cooks made a startled squeak. Marla stared at him for a long moment.

"Did you hit your head again?"

"Probably, but that is unrelated." She leaned on the counter.

"Explain the tragic missing thing before I regret feeding you." James sat up straighter. Food, apparently, had revived the part of him that missed Earth in inconvenient bursts.

"Cheese is made from milk. You separate the solids from the liquid, press them, salt them, sometimes age them. Different methods create different textures. Soft, hard, crumbly, stretchy. Some melt beautifully." Marla's expression shifted from skepticism to professional calculation.

"Milk becomes solid?"

"Yes."

"On purpose?"

"Yes."

"And people eat it?"

"With joy." Her eyes narrowed.

"You sound too happy about old milk."

"It's not old milk. Well, some of it is, technically, but in a controlled way."

"That sentence made it worse." James leaned forward, suddenly animated.

"Listen. There's a food from my world called pizza. Flatbread base, sauce, cheese, toppings, baked hot. The cheese melts, the edges crisp, the bread gets chewy and charred in places, and with herbs and roasted vegetables and meat…" He closed his eyes briefly.

"I would fight a goblin barehanded for a decent pizza." Marla stared at him. Then she looked toward the ovens.

"What kind of sauce?" James opened his eyes. Victory.

"Tomato, where I'm from," he said.

"We don't have tomatoes. We could use herb oil, roasted root mash, berry vinegar reduction if we find the right balance, maybe a vegetable paste. The important thing is cheese." Marla set the ladle down.

"How do we make it?"

"I know the basics," James said.

"Fresh milk. Warm it. Add something acidic or some kind of coagulant to separate curds from whey. Drain it. Press it. Salt it. Aging is more complicated, but fresh cheese should be doable." Marla's face had become the face she wore before reorganizing an entire kitchen.

"Now?" she asked. James looked down at his half-finished stew.

"I was thinking later."

"You brought me a food that turns milk into a miracle and then expected later?" James sighed.

"Fair." Marla grabbed a clean pail and shouted instructions to two cooks before James could form another objection. Within moments they were heading north toward the pasture, James carrying his bread because leaving it behind felt disrespectful. The pasture had expanded after the valley shifted, rolling out in green slopes near the northern water branch. The aether fawns grazed in small clusters, pale coats shimmering softly in the afternoon light. Their spiral horns caught mana like carved moonlight.

Finni stood near the fence, speaking quietly to one of the fawns while rubbing the bridge of its nose. His red hair was wind-tousled, his calm expression unchanged by the fact that a massive mana wolf lounged nearby like a boulder with fur and teeth. James refused to accept that it was still a puppy on moral grounds. It was already as big as a horse, with paws large enough to make footprints like bowls and eyes bright with watchful intelligence.

It lifted its head as James and Marla approached, sniffed once, then settled again with the grave dignity of a guard captain. James looked at Finni. Then at the wolf. Then at the aether fawns grazing calmly within sight of it.

"A wolf guarding sheep," James said.

"Somewhere, a shepherd from my world just fainted and doesn't know why." Finni tilted his head.

"They are not sheep."

"That is your takeaway?"

"The fawns like him." Marla eyed the wolf.

"If that thing comes into my kitchen, I am leaving." The wolf yawned, revealing teeth James preferred not to think about. Finni glanced at it, then back to Marla.

"He would not fit comfortably."

"That is also not comforting," James said. Finni accepted this with his usual serene detachment.

"What do you need?"

"Milk," Marla said.

"Fresh. We are attempting something questionable." James lifted a finger.

"Historic."

"Questionable and historic," Marla corrected. Finni nodded as if this made perfect sense and fetched the milking stool and pails. The aether fawns were used to him, and several came when he clicked his tongue softly. Their ears flicked. Their eyes were liquid and gentle. One nosed at James's sleeve, then decided his bread was more interesting.

"You cannot have that," James said, pulling it away. The fawn stared at him with serene betrayal. Marla laughed under her breath and crouched beside the first fawn with practiced hands.

"You know, when you first came here, I thought magic would be fireballs and monsters." James leaned against the fence.

"It is also fireballs and monsters." She began milking, the sound soft and rhythmic into the pail.

"Yes, but today it is milk becoming food we haven't imagined yet." James watched steam curl faintly from the fresh aether fawn milk, carrying a sweet, mana-rich scent. The sight settled something in him. After walls, kings, research crystals, and goblins, this felt absurdly precious. Finni murmured to the fawn, one hand steady against its flank. The mana wolf rested its chin on its paws and watched them with solemn attention. They carried the milk to a small worktable near the pasture shed.

Marla sent a passing child sprinting for clean cloth and a few sour berries she thought might help. James explained what he remembered. Marla corrected his vague hand motions into actual cooking logic. Finni contributed observations about the fawns' milk changing slightly depending on what they grazed near, which made Marla immediately demand a list of grazing patches and flavors.

"It is milk," James said.

"How much flavor difference can there be?" Marla and Finni both looked at him with pity. Before James could defend his ignorance, Aelthirra appeared carrying a bundle of small violet flowers. Selathi's younger sister moved lightly across the grass, her expression composed in the careful way of someone trying not to look like she had rushed. Her pale hair was braided loosely today, and the flowers in her hands gave off a gentle, clean scent that made the nearest fawn lift its head.

"These calm animals," Aelthirra said, holding them out to Finni.

"Their smell helps with nerves." James looked at the already calm fawns. Then at Aelthirra. Then at Finni. Finni accepted the flowers with grave appreciation.

"Thank you. They will like them." Aelthirra smiled at him.

"I thought so." Marla's elbow nudged James's ribs. James kept his face neutral through sheer force of will. Finni began arranging the flowers near the fence, completely sincere, while Aelthirra watched him with an expression that had very little to do with animal care. Then Tember arrived. He came over the rise with the quick, intense stride of a young man who had sensed danger in the emotional weather. His eyes went to Aelthirra, then the flowers, then Finni, then back to Aelthirra.

"What are those?" Tember asked.

"Flowers," Finni said. Tember stared at his twin.

"I can see they are flowers."

"Then why did you ask?" Aelthirra's smile trembled at the edges. Tember stepped closer, trying for casual and landing somewhere near battle-ready.

"Flowers can be arranged better by someone with a rider's instinct." Finni considered this.

"They are not riding flowers." James turned away and covered his mouth. Marla made a sound that was suspiciously like a cough. Tember's ears went red.

"That is not what I meant." Aelthirra, with the serene cruelty of youth, stepped closer to Finni.

"Could you show me which plants the fawns prefer? I would like to bring better ones next time." Finni nodded.

"Yes." Tember looked at James as if betrayed by the entire social order. James lifted both hands slightly.

"I am making cheese. I have no authority here."

"You are lord of the village," Tember hissed.

"Still no authority here." Marla laughed so hard she had to grip the table. The first curds began forming soon after. They were tiny, soft things, barely separating at first from the warm milk. Marla leaned over the pot with fierce concentration, adjusting heat, adding a little more sour berry juice, then muttering about how a different herb might create a cleaner separation. James watched the milk thicken and felt a ridiculous swell of pride. It wasn't much. A few curds. A cloudy pot.

A process half-remembered from Earth and half-invented by Marla's instincts. Yet it felt like the beginning of something. The same way the first crooked wall had once been a beginning. The first storage shed. The first garden row. The first hearth meal shared without fear swallowing every bite. Marla lifted a bit of curd on a spoon and sniffed.

"Well," she said.

"It smells less terrible than expected."

"That is basically a triumph." She tasted a tiny amount, paused, then frowned thoughtfully.

"It is actually edible." James grinned. Marla pointed the spoon at him.

"Do not look smug. This is still suspicious milk."

"Suspicious milk is how civilization advances."

"Civilization is getting a very strange reputation today." The mana wolf rose, stretched, and padded closer to sniff the air. James took one instinctive step back. Finni calmly placed a hand on the wolf's massive head.

"No," Finni said. The wolf huffed, then sat. Marla stared.

"That creature understands you better than half the villagers understand me."

"That is because I give simpler commands," Finni said. James laughed, warm and tired and genuinely happy. The sun slid lower over the plateau. Fireflies began to glow under the fence rails. In the distance, the Heartroot's golden leaves stirred above the hill. Somewhere south, Merrit was probably terrifying dwarves into productivity. Somewhere in the Lorekeeper's Hall, Onvir was beginning the first formal research project in Heartroot's history.

Somewhere near the Emberforge, Varn and Drogrun were almost certainly still insulting each other's ancestors. And here, beside a pasture watched by an oversized wolf puppy, James stood with Marla, Finni, Aelthirra, and Tember around a pot of thickening milk. He thought about walls, paper, research, ink, agriculture, and dwarven housing. Then he thought about melted cheese. He sighed happily.

"I cannot wait to have pizza." Marla looked at the curds, then at him, then back at the curds.

"If this is terrible," she said, "I am naming it after you." James nodded solemnly.

"That's fair." The fawns grazed. The wolf watched. Tember attempted to explain flower strategy to Aelthirra, who listened with polite interest while slowly drifting closer to Finni. Marla began planning herb ratios aloud, already turning one strange idea into something the village could eat. James let himself look toward the future and found something there that made him smile. Dinner.