The [Blacksmith] nodded, then shook his head as he glanced at Cara.

“Some nights, Miss Meuna, Mister Frost—other nights it’s better to listen for help if help was needed.”

They nodded, smiles fading. Cara shifted and Idelt conceded.

“However, for smaller hordes? I agree. But I would have never thought of it.”

“We forget it can be done.”

Mister Frost put in. He shook his head, then nodded at Cara.

“We must get to work. But we would welcome more songs of that kind, Miss Cara. Thank you.”

They were brief. But Cara was smiling. Even then—she was humbled by an interaction with Miss Nuiena.

“Did you enjoy the songs, Miss Nuiena?”

The old [Harvester] was smacking her lips, having had a huge Gloomwren egg for breakfast. Literally the entire thing, hard boiled and eaten with salt and pepper, which she kept reapplying. That was like a damn omelette itself.

“That one this morning? Well enough, Miss Cara. Were you singing before that?”

Cara hesitated.

“Y-yes? All night.”

“Ah. I slept through it, then. I sleep like the dead—unless something breaks through my door!”

She laughed drily at the look on Cara’s face. And it was a reminder. You couldn’t please everyone. Still—

most people had enjoyed the music.

Cara took it in for a bit, then she sang another more considered song while Violetta took a break. They traded places each time Violetta took a break; then everyone stopped for lunch.

“These eggs are insane.”

Cara stared at lunch. It was one of the Gloomwren eggs, a single one of which had made omelettes for her and Violetta. Idelt had one to himself.

Not that Noelictus made omelettes the same way as Cara quite knew it. For instance, she had watched as Idelt made breakfast, and the entire village stopped for food. He’d taken a cast iron pan, put it over a stone oven top with a vent for fire—much like a modern one, really! A bit of butter, yes, yes…

And then he’d slapped Night Cabbage into the pan and begun frying it up! It had just begun to crisp a bit when he’d added the egg. And then a bit of the undead deer venison, chopped up fine, and, to complement that, some spices, salt, pepper, and a bit of dark cheese, again, product of cows.

But the cabbage turned the omelette’s exterior crisp and crunchy! It was more like an egg-taco, and Cara savored it piece by piece.

“This is very good, Idelt! And it tastes…did you add some spice to this?”

She kept peering at the omelette. She hadn’t seen a single pepper flake—nor did she think it was that cheap to grow peppers or import the rarer spices. Silk road trading and all that in this medieval age. Idelt rubbed at his chin to cover a pleased look.