· 2 min read
A difference of opinion
A character exercise for Project Red Skies, exploring the past between two particular character. Set 15-20 years before the novel.
“—and that’s why the alchemical decoction is superior!”
Evan’s voice rings across the clearing with finality, his chest puffed out as he stands over her, his eyes scrunched against the smoke he’s too proud to avoid. Behind him, Lucas and Desree sit upon a log, grins on their faces as they await the next move.
Ena stirs the pot one last time, dabbing some stew on the back of her hand to taste test, then plucks out a few herb stalks and shuffles sideways in her crouch to grab their bowls. She fills two and hands them to Evan. “Here, pass these around.”
Automatically, Evan passes the bowls to the others, a confused scowl growing on his face. “Well? What do you think—“
Ena passes him another bowl, then takes her own over to the other log and sits down to eat. “Eat first,” she says. “Then talk.”
“That’s—“
“We haven’t had a good meal in days,” Lucas chimes in. “Sit, Evan. You need the sustenance.”
Grumbling, Evan perches on the opposite end of Ena’s log and starts to daintily shovel stew into his mouth. He’s too well-bred to talk and eat, something they all tend to take advantage of to get some peace.
They all take seconds, helping themselves to the pot. Lucas and Evan take thirds.
It’s only once they’re all satisfied, the drowsiness of a full stomach and a hard day starting to drag at their minds, that the conversation resumes.
“Well?” Evan asks again. “Do you have a counter argument, or do you actually agree?”
“How’d you like the stew?”
“What?”
Ena swishes her bowl with water from her waterskin, then gulps it down. “How’d you like the stew?”
“It was fine. What does that have to do with anything?”
“How’s your wounds?”
Evan pauses. Then, slowly and suspiciously, presses gently against the bandages that wrap his torso. His surprise is evident on his face and the way he presses slightly harder a moment later - then winces when he upsets the wound.
“What did you do?”
Ena drops her bowl by the fire, grabs the now mostly dry herb stalks, and drops them into Evan’s bowl instead. “Added feverfew to the stew. Plus dragonswort and silver lace to draw out its properties. No alchemy needed.”
Evan splutters. Lucas snorts, his laughter only half muffled behind a hand. Desree does better, biting her lip to keep her own mirth in.
Ena smirks as she drops onto her bedroll, her back to the fire, and to Evan. Nobody said she couldn’t agree and have a counter argument.