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... , she cooked.
Or tried to.
The stew was barely edible. Charred meat in thick root broth. Smelled like wet fur.
Rein took a bite anyway.
Zeraka stared at him across the fire, unmoving, gaze sharp.
"Well?" she asked.
He swallowed carefully. "It's... bold."
"That means good?"
"It means I didn't die."
She leaned back, clearly satisfied. "Then I've nourished my mate."
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