Down in the kitchen area, the fire in the stove was stoked and more wood added to increase the temperature. The pot on the stove bubbled gently as he added the last of the herbs and spices to the stew he had started before he left to get her. While she bathed it had cooked down to a nice hearty mix and the final herbs he added now were more for her nausea than to add to the flavor of it all. Slow measured stirs of his wooden spoon then a bit of it was brought out for him to taste.<br/><br/>“A pinch more salt,” he mused allowed to himself.<br/><br/>He had just added the salt, stirred it some more and went for another taste when she appeared. At her words he gave only a small shrug, “There is nothing to thank me for, but you are welcome all the same.” The spoon set off to the side he turned and looked over at her, his own arms crossed over his chest. He could not help but read her while he regarded her. The defensive way she held herself, the uncertainty that was held in her body as well as her eyes. He could only speculate what it was that caused her such distress and that speculation made his blood boil, though he would never be so heartless as to bring it up with her. When she was ready, she could tell him all that she wanted him to know.<br/><br/>“Ready to eat?”