True, there were two slices of bread -- each a rich, fluffy thing with a fine crust and a taste sharp and tantalizing. 'Sourdough,' they called her, and the word did not seem to do the wonderful thing justice. Ebonshield could have sat there and devoured a whole loaf alone, but no -- better still was to come. For, smeared all across this fresh bread was a green spread of a richness unfathomable. Each bite, a texture different, a taste novel! There were other ingredients, to be sure: a few leaves of the spinach, an egg poached, even some shavings of what was perhaps cheese. And these were valuable additions, yes, though to her, they were but decorations upon the ingredients primary.