Things that Go Bump in the Night (Lee!)

Needs more salt.

Joshu barely managed to avoid dropping the entire shaker into the pot, as his arm was abrubtly heavier by the weight of one wher who was—despite what she said—getting way too big to try and clamber up on his shoulders like she was doing at precisely that moment. Almost amused, the man raised his eyebrows and murmured, “Oh? Why’s that?

Because it does.

A small chuckle escaped, but Joshu lowered the shaker to stir the pot without adding any more. “All the same, I think it has enough.” He said gently, quietly. The kitchens were quiet this hour, which was, he suspected, the only reason why the woman in charge had allowed him in the back with his wher, who had done her best to look small, pitiful, and shiveringly cold. He—and Jossk—had been allowed in, but warned that one toe out of line and they could eat crusts in their room for the next turn. Joshu had missed the kitchen enough to risk it. And his soup was perfect, no matter what Jossk said. Except the skinny green wher dived, dunked her face in the pot—to the concerned shout of "Jossk!", that stuff was hot—and turned to stare balefully at Joshu. Confident, Jossk licked the last of the liquid off of her face, and smugly said,

See. Tastes gross. Total ugh. Needs more salt.

Joshu felt a headache starting, staring at his now…wher-face-washed soup and decided that she’d been mostly clean, they’d just had a bath, and the oil wouldn’t change the flavor too much. So he scooped himself a bowl and sipped it. "Are you sure it doesn’t just taste gross because you’re a wher and only eat meat?"

Tastes gross because needs more sal—

Jossk trailed off, to Joshu’s alarm. "Jossk?"

Jossk and Joshu come! Jossk replied to the burgundy weyrling, informing her handler as well. As soon as Joshu add more salt to soup.

Joshu blinked in confusion. "What?"

Jossk sighed with utmost patience, and slowed her words down since he clearly did not understand. Good thing he had her. The soup! Is be needing more SALT.

Joshu swatted at her, and she dodged, jumping nimbly off his shoulder but staying close to the fire. “No! Not that. Where are we going?”

Joshu’s Nori wants Joshu.

Joshu frowned. What was she doing up at this hour? Alarmed, and worried, mother hen instincts nevertheless kicked in. “Ask her if she wants soup.

Ask Noirath’s if want soup. Trust Jossk, answer is be no. Needs salt.

JOSSK.

His leg ached. Or, to be more precise, the space where his leg used to be ached, because the pain, as it always did, came from below the knee, where there was nothing at all to actually be the source of or feel pain. It didn't make any sense. Joshu had told himself sternly that he couldn't feel pain. But feel it he did, for all that it made no sense, and he had come to live with it best he could. It was useful in its way. He'd always have a sense for Threadfall, which felt like burning, twisting. But the ache he had now, he mused, probably only meant snow. Jossk caught wind of this and sneezed, which somehow managed to express her intense displeasure with the thought of frozen precipitation even more than a scowl or hiss would have. The skinny wher followed her sneeze up with a snort of pure disgust and immediately entwined herself around Joshu's good leg and the peg, circling them like a cat and leaning hard against the limb as though intending to leech warmth from it.

"Stop that." He murmured automatically. For one, it made walking harder than it already was, and secondly, there was going to be a time where she'd be too big for that and he did not really want to encourage it into becoming habit. Jossk snorted again and ignored him except for a pointed explanation of COLD. and he sighed before leaning down, wrapping his scarf around the skinny green—she was small enough and he was large enough that his scarf could cover most of her if he wrapped it right. He then put two gloves over her stumpy wings. Better?

Jossk did not move from between his leg and peg leg. Better. She decided, before responding at last to Noirath with a snotty, What stupid Burgundummy know about soup? Nothing. Know wherry poop about soup. Jossk be in kitchen too. Jossk KNOW things. Coming now.

Joshu carefully ladled some of the soup into a large mug and gently laid a towel over it to keep most of the warmth from escaping before heading to the clearing that the night-eyed Jossk led the way too without a single misstep. His sister looked so small with the blanket wrapped around her shoulders, and the already large dragonet by her side. He felt a sentimental twinge and stifled it. She’d been even smaller a turn ago. She was growing, and he had to face it some time or another. He took a seat quietly and Jossk was instantly on his lap, burrowing into his coat as he tried not to slosh the mug proffered to Nori. "Moon morning, sis. Hello Noirath."