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“It looks…safe enough.” Alessio said.

Nithel licked his lips after trying a fruit. It was… sweet. But also tart and filling. Like something his eldest daughter would bake. Nithel’s heart tugged, his eyes serious. He looked at Alessio a moment, before pulling off his shirt, and looking back at the food. Nithel’s skin was deeply tanned. There were fresh cuts, bruises, and the occasional scar on his arms and back, but none of them looked older than a year. None were particularly severe, just where battle had knicked him.

“Which door will you pick?” Nithel asked while putting the least perishables into his patched shirt. He held the cloth like a bag. Was there a way to bring the food back? Even a little? He doubted it. But… I was able to bring the strap, wasn’t I? 

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