“Close the door there, would you? So the heat won’t be let out.” She asked. Handy blinked and thought about pointing out the room’s walls were full of holes before thinking better of it. He closed the door, his gaze never leaving the old griffon. “That’s a good lad, thank you kindly.” She says, rummaging about in her shawl. “Ah there we are.” She pulls a small brown pouch and opened it. Holding it over the pot she taps it a few times and orange powder trickles into the bubbling concoction. Handy noted that it now smelled considerably more appetizing. “For flavour.” She explained.