Still, nothing to eat. Nothing to serve. Bones, scraps, and watery soup... The village is frightened, the trade routes cut off. With this war on the horizon, when will we meet our demise?

A new traveler arrived, hungry and tired. She ordered stew and asked for the bones to be left in. Quiet anger lingered in her eyes — wild determination, like a starving wolf.

We were all out of meat, of course... haven't had a fresh catch in weeks. All I could do was to offer her a room. Instead of warming herself by our hearth, she declined with a grunt, turned around, and disappeared into the night. I saw her march northwards into the woods, to sleep on the cold, hard ground. What a brute... she belongs in the wild, anyhow.

I awoke to the smell of freshly spilled blood.
When I looked outside my bedroom window, I saw that some predator had dragged 2 Fae Deer from the northern wilds all the way to the village square. The kill looked effortless, but it certainly wasn't 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, war or not. Thank the Ancients!