Still nothing to eat. Still nothing to serve. Bones, scraps and watery soup... When will we meet our demise? A new traveler arrived, hungry and tired. She wanted me to leave the bones in her stew. A quiet anger lingered in her eyes — wild determination, like a starving wolf. I offered her a room, but she declined with a grunt. Marched into the woods, up north, to sleep on the cold, hard ground. A brute... she belongs in the wild, anyhow.

I awoke to the smell of blood, freshly flowing. I looked outside my window where some predator had made a fresh kill of 2 Fae Deer. Effortless maybe, but certainly not painless. At first, I cried out in shock. But then the realization hit me: 2 Fae Deer. 8 rib portions. Maybe 10, 12 sausages. Blood pudding as dessert. Gallons of stew! This will feed the whole village. Thank the Ancients!