Orin nodded in reply to Devi’s inquiry about his trips to the woods. Calling them foraging runs was a bit too optimistic. Orin was well aware that they were mostly Rondo’s attempts to get Orin to fail at his job. The man was insufferable and had hated Orin with a passion ever since The Rearing Stallion opened. The feeling was mutual now, after Orin had spent a long time trying to keep his head down. Eventually Orin realized that he and the older cook would never get along. Orin took a perverse pleasure in succeeding at the increasingly ridiculous demands Rondo placed on Orin. One day, I’ll show that man he was wrong to mess with me. Still, it was quite likely that Orin would be able to snag a few herbs when he was outside the city. ”I’ll keep an eye out. When are they in bloom, excactly?” Orin didn’t know much about herbs, it was true, but at least he knew that some of them were active year round and others could only be harvested only once a year and sometimes just once every two years. He committed the tidbit to memory about Vyfox being more potent fresh than dried. Mostly that was true of cooking herbs, but there were a few that actually had to be preserved and prepared specially before they could be used.
Orin watched curiously as Devi retrieved a few plants from a jar. Devi seemed totally in her element. Orin was having trouble retaining everything she was explaining to him so he used a mental trick that he’d picked up for studying recipes or working on a particularly difficult dish. It was an incredibly focused state, where Orin ignored the rest of the world in order to better follow what was going on in front of him. Sure enough, even if it was just a change in thinking Orin found Devi’s words soaking into him as his awareness of his surroundings faded. Belltor’s leaves prevented scarring and it’s flowers and seeds apparently helped colds. Orin watched fascinated as Devi quickly and efficiently ground the leaves into a paste for his arm. She seemed as proficient with the mortar and pestle as Orin was with any of his kitchen equipment. Orin memorized the differences between the flowers and leaves of the plant that Devi called acson. He couldn’t resist a quick quip although he wasn’t sure how appropriate it was. ”Well, have you tried mixing acson with anything to sweeten it?” It was an honest question, but mostly Orin didn’t want Devi to feel that he wasn’t paying attention when the opposite was true. She moved on from plants to Orin’s treatment. The cleaning was self-evident and when Devi assured Orin that she’d teach him how to rebandaged himself and reapply the poultice Orin was relieved. He trusted Devi to know her craft. She seemed to have finished talking, although she seemed preoccupied with something or other Orin had said. He’d babbled on so much that he had no idea what it could be. Then, finally she spoke up again.
Orin bowed his head. Devi's story hit a bit too close to home. While obviously their circumstances weren't the same they had remarkable similarities. ”She sounds like a lovely woman.” Orin didn't know if Devi would appreciate sympathy or understanding but Orin felt compelled to offer it regardless. He doubted she'd abandon him, since she was still treating his wounds. At worst, he'd lose her friendship and since they were barely acquainted Orin couldn't exactly see that as much of a loss. Orin finally managed to choke out some words past the lump in his throat. "You know, I have this carving knife." Orin could picture it in his mind's eye, its handle worn with age and its blade sharp and true. "It belonged to my mother, who I never met. And it's going to sound silly, out loud. But sometimes when I use it I feel like she's there with me, cooking the meal. And since I don't even have the memory of her, I cling to that thought that somehow her spirit survived in the things she left behind." Orin turned his head away and dashed the back of his free hand angrily against his eyes. He refused to cry. "And that knife is all that's left of her." In fact it was basically all that was left of Orin's past. The rest had gone up in flames, his father's drunkenness finally destroying Orin's physical home as he'd already shattered Orin's mental refuge. As always Orin felt a dull and deep anger stir at the thought of his father and squashed it quickly. Emotions were too burdensome so Orin did his best to ignore that he had them. It was easier that way.
Changing the subject to poisons was very welcome. Orin shrugged his shoulders to indicate that he really didn’t know where to start. ”Well, are there any you know of that resemble either medicinal or cooking plants? I mean, I wouldn’t want to confuse something safe with something unsafe.” Orin ran his right hand through his hair unconsciously as he thought. If Devi couldn’t think of anything that fit that description, Orin figured he’d start with the basics. ”Well, are there any poisons that are particularly common in Syliras? Starting local seems to make more sense.” As Orin spoke he gradually became more and more away of a feeling of dread pooling in the pit of his stomach. It took him a while to realize that it seemed to be coming from an external source, or rather, the small bundle in his brain that Orin was coming to associate with Sylvette. Turning his head to look at his bondmate Orin was shocked to see her practically cowering. ”Sylvette, don’t be afraid! You’re perfectly safe here.” Forgetting his own pain in the face of Sylvette’s, Orin twisted so he could fully face her. ”Are you, are you alright? Come on, please tell me what’s wrong.” Orin didn’t think she’d been injured too badly in the fight and he hadn’t noticed the fear until after they’d arrived in Soothing Waters. But there was nothing here that should be frightening to her.
