#zaibal sul

“Shut up. I was thinking about where to take it.” Sovaliah lied. Better to seem like something productive had been happening than admit she had simply gotten lost in thought contemplating how starving she was. She slung his quiver over her shoulder and picked up the bow.

“Certainly,” Sul replied wryly. He took off without further ado on a sure-footed stride to the northeast, heading toward two distinctly shaped volcanic boulders in the distance. Sovaliah hastened her step to keep up, moving easily through the environment in her chitin-and-hide armor. 

The young mer tried to be conscious of where she stepped, literally following in her brother’s footsteps lest any Erabenimsun lurked amongst the rocks and fungi. They were still in the territory commonly roamed by the Zainab, but she had heard enough of Alma’s stories about the Erabenimsun to know that the tribe ventured here from time to time, and she wasn’t particularly inclined to find out which aspects of those violent tales were true.

“I can make the fire when we make camp.” Sovaliah piped up, eager to seem useful to her big brother on their first solo expedition.

He merely grunted in reply. But she took that as a good sign and marched onwards, thoughts wheeling as she hypothesized some scenario where they returned to the Zainab camp and Sul regaled Alma with tales of her successes. Gave substance to her worth as a warrior-to-be. Praise from him would go far with the clan elders. Perhaps then they would allow her to accompany the next relic preservation mission. 

Occupying her mind with daydreams was the best way to ignore the ever-present hunger.

The air had turned thicker with volcanic ash in the time they had spent walking, and Sul stopped suddenly in his tracks, shifting his posture with the guar on his shoulders to block his sister’s path. “Wait.” He hissed, voice dropped to a whisper. He jutted his chin out, where a betty netch and her two calves floated idly beneath a low-lying mushroom, blocking the only path between the crags. “Turn back.”

Sovaliah heeded him without protest, turning about face and walking exactly back where she came from. 

After a few minutes and distance established between them and the netch, Sul spoke up again. “We’re stopping here. Air is getting bad, that netch looked malevolent, and I have no particular desire to lose the kill this far out.” His voice was slightly muffled through the chitin helm and kresh-fiber mask he wore, but she understood him plainly enough.

Sovaliah paused and looked around, taking measured breaths through the filtration mask as she studied what she could see of the environment. Tall chanterelle and spongecaps formed dark shapes in the growing ash-haze. “There!” She exclaimed, waving toward a rock wall where she noticed the grass stalks at its base stood still. “It’s out of the wind.”

Sul followed her gesture with his gaze and adjusted the carcass on his shoulders, setting out toward the spot. He performed a preliminary check, ensuring that no other mer or creatures had similar ideas. At last, finding it safe, he carefully set down the carcass and waved Sovaliah over. “Good eye.” He remarked offhandedly, and Sovaliah swelled up with pride. 

Brother and sister both set to work, where Sul arranged a haphazard shelter against the rock face and Sovaliah took advantage of the wind block to try to create a fire. She was thankful for his distraction so that he didn’t notice her struggle with getting the sparks to catch on the clumps of grass, growing increasingly stressed out as every second passed without the telltale fwoom of ignition. Here in the wildlands, eating meant effort. There were any number of steps where things could go wrong.

At last, the grass clump ignited and Sovaliah fed the flame with branches that Sul brought over. He started placing small pieces of igneous rock beneath the fire, seemingly heedless of the flame. “These will retain the heat when the branches have gone. Helps with cooking.” 

“Didn’t the Gulakhan say to bring any kill directly back to camp?” She questioned, watching her brother nurture the fire. 

“The meat will spoil before we make it back unless I butcher it now. Usually make a stew from the offal-- I’ll show you how.” Sul gave the fire one last poke before turning to the guar carcass with a blade in hand. True to his word, he set to work carefully sawing through the animal’s abdomen so he could reach inside to remove the viscera.

Sovaliah went to her pack to retrieve a small carapace cooking bowl, setting it up above the fire. She pulled out a cutting board and her own knife and sat down nearby, waiting for her brother. In short time, he passed her the guar’s bloody heart, two small kidneys, and the liver. 

“Start chopping that up,” Sul directed, and Sovaliah quickly followed suit.  While she was busy, he grabbed a skin out of his pack and removed the cork, upending it over the bowl.  “Bone broth,” He explained. “Normally I’d like to add a little shein for flavor, but it’s been some time since we’ve had that around...” 

“Vos hasn’t exactly been a bustling trading hub lately.” Sovaliah mused. 

“No, it hasn’t.” Sul agreed. “Shand scouted the area and said the town’s riddled with disease. Couldn’t shower me in all the metal I could ask for to get me to go there.”

“Corprus?”

“Only Mephala knows. The n’wah likely brought it.”

“Hmm.” Sovaliah grunted, then held up the cutting board with all the chopped organ meat. “When do I add this?”

“Do it now, the broth is boiling.” Sul directed. 

Sovaliah followed his instruction and dumped the meat in the broth, watching with ravenous eyes. “Anything else? Other ingredients?”

Sul gave a harsh laugh, “Does it look like we have other ingredients to throw in there?” He shook his head. “Ground trama root would give it a nice kick. Perhaps a few sprigs of bittergreen...” 

It was the closest Sovaliah had ever seen her brother to being outright wistful, and she understood it keenly. She let out a sigh and peeled her helm off, pulling down her filtration mask so she could take a great big huff of the steam rolling off the stew. “Smells good anyway.”

“Kwama dung would smell good to me right about now.” Sul jested.