Upon hearing that, Earling moved from his perch,
stepping down onto the floor with a thunk and scratch of his talons. He moved to a wall, slid aside a panel from it (I didn't know those panels could be moved, Seph thought with surprise) and then removed what looked to be a large board from a space behind the wall. The board turned out to be a table with short, stout, collapsible legs; Seph helped him set it up in the middle of the floor, and as soon as the table had flattened somewhat, Alban set down large bowls on top of it, which slid slightly as Seph and Earling continued to attempt to stabilize the table.
Seph was too busy trying to tug white sheets from beneath the table's legs, and as a result did not notice until Alban handed him a spoon that the bowl that had been set on the table were filled with dirt.
No, not dirt, he told himself, and he looked harder at the bowl before re-realizing that indeed, it was filled dirt.
Earling sat on the floor opposite Seph, his long legs crossed, knees pushed up in sharp arches; Alban sat beside him, ladling dirt first from the larger bowl onto Earling's plate, and then politely into Seph's plate before dumping dirt onto his own. Seph looked down at his plate, years of training freezing his look of horror before it could creep fully onto his face. The dirt on his plate was gleaming slightly, and was quite dark and rich; when he prodded at it with his spoon, it came apart in clumps, and he could see there were things embedded in it, cappillary-thin roots woven through grains of it and little clots of what he assumed was plant matter. He maneuvered the dirt again and this time unearthed something like a noodle that, upon noticing its exposure to light, flexed with slow irritation.
His entire body chilled. He glanced up at Alban and Earling discreetly, and saw they were both eagerly and loudly shoveling the stuff into their mouths.
Well — maybe the dirt of Anthem Low was different. Maybe it wasn't dirt in the sense that dirt was dirt in High. Swallowing, Seph looked down and began to tease loose dirt onto the dip of his spoon, and then slowly brought it to his mouth and tipped.
For a moment he couldn't do anything — just let the stuff rest on his tongue, trying to overcome his urges to spit. It didn't have any real taste — it was just chill, and soft — experimentally he chewed, and his teeth came down on something dense and chewy that it stuck to the depressions of his teeth and only clung deeper when he tried to work them loose with his tongue. Inevitably he swallowed and he could feel the dirt inch down his throat like...well, a ball of mud.
It really was dirt.
He thought back wildly to Etiquette. Did he have to eat all of this? Would it be an affront if he didn't? Alban had put so much on his plate...
Seph was too busy trying to tug white sheets from beneath the table's legs, and as a result did not notice until Alban handed him a spoon that the bowl that had been set on the table were filled with dirt.
No, not dirt, he told himself, and he looked harder at the bowl before re-realizing that indeed, it was filled dirt.
Earling sat on the floor opposite Seph, his long legs crossed, knees pushed up in sharp arches; Alban sat beside him, ladling dirt first from the larger bowl onto Earling's plate, and then politely into Seph's plate before dumping dirt onto his own. Seph looked down at his plate, years of training freezing his look of horror before it could creep fully onto his face. The dirt on his plate was gleaming slightly, and was quite dark and rich; when he prodded at it with his spoon, it came apart in clumps, and he could see there were things embedded in it, cappillary-thin roots woven through grains of it and little clots of what he assumed was plant matter. He maneuvered the dirt again and this time unearthed something like a noodle that, upon noticing its exposure to light, flexed with slow irritation.
His entire body chilled. He glanced up at Alban and Earling discreetly, and saw they were both eagerly and loudly shoveling the stuff into their mouths.
Well — maybe the dirt of Anthem Low was different. Maybe it wasn't dirt in the sense that dirt was dirt in High. Swallowing, Seph looked down and began to tease loose dirt onto the dip of his spoon, and then slowly brought it to his mouth and tipped.
For a moment he couldn't do anything — just let the stuff rest on his tongue, trying to overcome his urges to spit. It didn't have any real taste — it was just chill, and soft — experimentally he chewed, and his teeth came down on something dense and chewy that it stuck to the depressions of his teeth and only clung deeper when he tried to work them loose with his tongue. Inevitably he swallowed and he could feel the dirt inch down his throat like...well, a ball of mud.
It really was dirt.
He thought back wildly to Etiquette. Did he have to eat all of this? Would it be an affront if he didn't? Alban had put so much on his plate...
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