"Meat," Sol thought, his stomach giving a treacherous growl, he didn't know how long has it been since this body tasted meat.
"I'll get the pot," Lyra said, moving efficiently. "I'll cook them up right away. A good stew will help you heal earlier."
Sol nodded absentmindedly, but immediately a memory surfaced from the depths of his predecessor's brain. He recalled the "stew."
It wasn't a stew, it was a fucking culinary crime. Lyra, bless her heart, had only one method of cooking: throw everything… skin, roots, and bitter greens…into a pot of water and boil it until it turned into a grey, flavorless sludge that tasted like hot mud and despair.
Sol shuddered just thinking about it.
