Chapter Text
D’iea was running out of food.
This was hardly a surprise, given the recent calamity. The attempts to grow the seeds they had in this new soil were continuing, though less progress was being made than she’d like, especially as the weather grew colder. She had found some substitutes for the ingredients she’s used to, but there’s some flavors she simply could not recreate. The savory sweetness of med sap, the soft crunch of the gretesk seed; without them, she couldn’t make the Inn’s prized roa’lik cookies.
She starts to seek alternatives.
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She leaves her inn, trusting her nespring, Zo’ya, to keep everything in order.
It’s hard not to hear her patrons chat among themselves. A number of them, hearing about the food shortages, have mentioned the food they were given when they first arrived to this planet.
“I’ll miss the food of my youth,” they’d say, “but the food I’ve had from here has been pretty good.”
So she makes her way to Falconreach.
The journey is surprisingly easy, aid regularly coming from Falconreach to the newly arrived city keeping the path safe.
With every mention of this town and its food, one name comes up regularly. Serenity.
Her path does not stray from her goal. Her steps take her unerringly toward the inn that sheltered so many refugees that first day.
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She is welcomed warmly. While she is significantly smaller than D’iea herself, there is a strength to Serenity that brings a sense of comfort to all who meet her. Her quest for ingredients reminiscent of those she knows is met with excitement. She is ushered into the kitchen as Serenity immediately starts asking about specific things she wishes to make, flavor profiles, baking methods, everything she can think of. D’iea answers as best she can, she can make them but the recipes were either from the original owner of The Midnight Inn or her own grandmother. She pulls out the recipe book she’s collected everything in and Serenity’s eyes light up.
Not even an hour into talking, they start trying things.
By the end of the night, they are both smudged with flour and the counters covered in baked goods of varying qualities. They rest, waiting for Spruce to return with any Atealans currently in town that might be willing to taste test.
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Not everything they make succeeds.
The flavors are off, the ingredients don’t interact the same way, things just don’t bake quite right.
But there are still more than enough tasty treats to go around.
D’iea takes a bite of one of their many confections and she knows this trip was worth the effort.
The flaky softness of the pastry, the sweetness of the honey tempered by cinnamon, the crunch of crushed walnuts.
There are still some differences; the pastry’s a little thicker, the filling less sticky, the nuts a bit less flavorful.
It is still, undeniably, roa’lik.
She sleeps in the inn that day. When she leaves that night, she is sent off with a small cart of ingredients and a promise of more, so long as she returns to test more recipes together.
She agrees readily, already looking forward to next time.