I have just finished breakfast with Windaline. It consisted of a pair of large eggs, both the size of fists and a pale gray color. She mixed them into a pan as large as a bowl and stirred in meat and flour until it became a flaky batter, which she served in crisps. She handed me the bowl with a spoon and at my hesitation reminded me it was my favorite.

She bade me eat and then left for an adjacent room, where I heard her quietly contact the hospital and argue with them briefly. She argued that I am not yet healed, for a while but the entire thing must have been fruitless because she returned with a reddened face and told me that today we would go shopping. I agreed.

I don't have anything else to do, that I know of.

She has gone upstairs, presumably to prepare for the outing.

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