The crackling pop of flames etching and carving out soot lined edges within wood, embers and old charcoal a glowing bed to the campfire. A sizzle sounded, sauce bubbling swiftly post being poured into the large wok straddled over the center of the makeshift pit. It continued its angry dance, spread across the heated metal by a spatula and tossed with harvested vegetables from the greenhouse and garden, imported roots and foraged proteins of the insectoid variety.
Flyndt watched from where he sat at the threshold of their erected ger, listening to the cooking, the rustling of the canvas covering the round tent — home away from his found home — and the chirping of crickets in the lower plains of Apaec. Picking one said cricket, roasted and coated in spices that were at best a guesstimate to the recipe of his nostalgia, the Omwati bit into it. He relished in the crunch, savoring the blend upon his mottled tongue. It was not the same, no. Yet, he relished Foxen’s attempt. His take on the stir fry and the effort the hybrid put into it, the hours of research, it was treasured really.
But…
His chewing slowed and his gaze shifted from scarred hands to a head nearly as dark as the twilight and full of thick tendrils marked by their own history. Apparently he had been staring. His partner’s crimson gaze met his own, catching the droop of shoulders and striped scarlet feathers. Hands rose and flashed slowly.
‘*You look lost in thought. All good, O.K.? Share if you want?*’
Flyndt cleared his throat. After one final glance at it, he set his bowl down beside himself and crossed his legs. He signed back as he spoke, “I was thinking how…that it would be nice to have you visit Omwat…”
He ruffled the silvery feathers on his nape with an inked hand and sighed, giving a sheepish smile that disrupted his usual impassive face before falling flat again. Pulling his hand back down, the Omwati gestured at the still sauteing stir fry. “Could learn what it actually tastes like from someone who cooks it well, knows more of recipes like when visited Kasiya…Not rely on my tongue but *proper* learn.”
There was a pause, heavy and quiet, even the crickets seemed to cease their song. It was the first time he had suggested they visit Omwat and the mix of feelings he felt were so muddled and meshed together he could not make heads or tails his expectation here. And Foxen? He just stared for what felt like eons.
‘*Really? You want me to visit, with you?*’
Flyndt nodded, and found himself suddenly enveloped in thick corded arms and lifted from his seat. Foxen pulled him into an embrace with only half the thought to mind the fire and spared the discarded half eaten dish. His throat raspy and quiet as he whispered into that crown full of feathers.
“I’d like that. Anywhere with you, of yours.”