A Party of Special Magnificence
Senses of Love: 5. Taste
Victuals.
I sing over the bread.
Rest to the weary. Strength to the faltering. Clarity to the confused. All this and more I knead into the dough, as I have done every day for millennia.
Yesterday I made a double batch, singing healing, courage, and hope into the wafers before wrapping them in the mallorn leaves with whispers of protection and peace. They will keep as long as they must and will still be just as sweet as when I pulled them from the coals.
And the Dwarf thought it was cram.
