Last time Gilda had been there was a week ago, just before they started the first raid. The Marines had used the place as a barracks, overlooking the modification of the wagons, and also as a place to rest and practise fighting. Now, though, it looked like a restaurant. Tents were put up, with rows of low tables arranged in straight lines. There was… Gilda couldn’t describe the smell, but it wafted comfortably in the air before settling into her stomach, making it growl. 