Compliments to the Chef (Part 1)

Miraculous; the only word Olpi could think of to define Elero's near-recovery. The cape, which had shared a flash of radiant light with Elero's back, lay lifelessly on her shoulders. Elero breathed easier.

Olpi inspected the wound again, and let out a defeated sigh. 'Of course it's not that easy,' she thought. 'Whatever that flash was, it was too weak. She still needs a fire.'

Almost as if on cue, a pair of heavy footsteps caught her attention. "Don't worry Elero," Olpi exclaimed. "The wait is over."

She scrambled up the ladder, shoved the shield out of the way, and peered through the branches. Her smile faded. The man stomping around the snow was familiar, but he wasn't Frey. If she recalled correctly, his name was Owen.

Owen trudged through the snow with only a hefty bag on his back, donning only a thin set of short-sleeved rags to cover his chubby body. He knelt down to examine the group's tracks, unaware of Olpi's presence.