#(took a sec! but finally got to it. don't ask where she got the silk from.)

[rotten-pest]

She hated indebting herself further, but truth be told a drink of something that was not swampy water was very welcome.

“Yes, eating is important” Cotesia said, less blithe or sarcastic and more plainly observational. “And drinking. Many thanks, for the tea.”

(Contrary to popular belief, Pests did eat. Usually it was an ‘anything goes’ kind of affair, they weren’t picky. Sometimes Pests spat into each others mouths, if one was too weak—usually reserved only for larva, though. Generally regarded as gross by humans, but she didn’t expect them to understand the tenderness of the gesture anyway, not that she had plans about spitting into anyone’s mouth).

She was a tad jealous of Izar’s meal, the bread especially. But envy ebbed where a bit of confusion came through. For all her care for him, she offered him not, nor did he provide his own provisions. Very strange. Maybe she was still sore of their argument? But somehow that didn’t seem the case.

It was not her intention to start needling him again, quite yet. So she kept her skepticism to herself, and dipped her tin cup into the pot, then blew on it to make it cool, before taking a sip and kind of making a face. Not because it was bad but because she’d never had it before and wasn’t expecting to be so… bitter? Very flavorful.

Maybe it was having her stomach no longer empty and something warm and clean to drink, but an idea finally alighted. Aha! She had something to provide. Valuable, too, she hoped. With a jolt she reached to rummage through her pockets before pulling out a spool of fine silk Pest thread. Perfect for all sorts of things—mending garments, or sewing wounds closed. Unlike silk-silk, it didn't foul the wound either. It dissolved more easily than animal gut too.

“I know you said I did not owe you” Cotesia said, reaching back to remember Izar’s phrasing (rather than just the sting of being refuted), “but I would be remiss to simply make use of your services and be on my way. Tis refined silk. Not enough to make a garment whole-cloth, but if you know a skilled seamstress they may have use for it. I, myself, use it close wounds mostly. You could also sell it, I suppose.”

Izar returned the smile, although something about Cotesia’s seemed just a little bit off to her. But that might just be her imagination—or Cotesia still feeling a little tense. A tension that thankfully seemed to have eased, for now. She glanced back at Ensha who was back to staring at Cotesia warily, but Izar could tell that the anger was gone. She blinked when Cotesia brought out a piece of dry meat and tore into it in a way that reminded Izar of… well, a feral animal, maybe? Not that she was going to judge anybody for their table manners. ‟Ah, don’t you worry. We have our own provisions. Speaking of which, I’ll put water on and make us some tea. Do you like tea? It’ll warm us all up.” With that—and a short glance at Ensha to make sure he was fine—she scurried over to the other room again to retrieve the pot she had found earlier. When she returned to the fireplace, Ensha had already brought out the waterskin and the collection of dried herba, so Izar could pour the water—from the Hold’s well, not Liurnia’s muddy lake—into the pot, toss the leaves in and place it on the fire. She felt a little guilty for that rushed and unceremonious way of preparing the hot beverage. When the nomadic merchants did it, it was calm and dignified, and usually included far more sophisticated blends then a handful of herba. But well, this would have to do. Truth to be told, Izar also was a little hungry, but she hesitated to bring out their provisions. She wouldn’t have minded sharing them with Cotesia, but knew that Ensha wasn’t likely to partake in that kind of meal, which—same as him not taking off his armor—would probably seem odd. So she was rather grateful when Cotesia brought up the topic of the map again. ‟The map, yes. I’ll get to it right away,” she said, her treacherous stomach rumbling softly, which earned her a serious look from Ensha who reached for the backpack once more—chest heaving with a silent sigh— and pulled out everything from the sachet they had brought along: a small loaf of bread, dried meat and mushrooms, a bit of cheese. Then he briefly gestured both at her and Cotesia, and added: You should eat first. You tend to forget that over your map-making. A brief pause, then, with emphasis and quite reproachfully, Always.