Venne Outpost

A line of water trickled down from the cyan and pale silver ceramic pot. Sergeant Hadrien shoved the glass across a cold stone table to Moxi. The fur around his nose bristled as he smiled, and his one eye instinctively looked toward the ceiling. When he first came down from the watchtower to greet us by the entrance to Venne, I was almost intimidated by the long scar down the right side of his face and the thick eyepatch covering half of it. Then, his tail started swishing up-and-down like a dog’s and he purred in short, bright bursts between his words, warmly inviting us inside.

He started pouring another glass of water. “Fen, how fares your grandfather?” Behind the sergeant were lines of bookshelves filled with scrolls and maps. There was a framed portrait of a male catfolk that quite resembled Fen, him having the same orange fur and pointed face. A small table sat under it, and fresh flowers had been placed atop it no later than this morning.

“The general is tired and restless,” Fen lowered her head slightly, “when Hana’s mother asked for one of us to accompany them, he tried volunteering himself before remembering his sprained leg. He told me he won’t be on more adventures like I’m on now. He said to enjoy as much as I could.”

The sergeant took a sip of water, slowly swishing it in his mouth, “A shame. He was always more of a vagabond than a soldier. Maybe I should have shunned the path of an officer. What brings you so remote as Venne?”

Moxi leaned over the table, “There are twice more comforts here than would find us sleeping in the middle of the road.”

“And so, you will be having to rest in the middle of the road tomorrow night instead of tonight. Fall grows into its twilight days, and if you escape your path for a faraway town each day, you won’t be crossing the Capital until weeks after winter. Then, what comes a day you must sleep on the road, and you’ve then delayed till winter already?

Fen’s tail puffed up, and she straightened her back at attention, her neck stiffly tilting toward the sergeant, “I advised them to turn back to the main road, Sir! Something dreadful could have happened!”

Another soldier set steaming bowls of yellowish gray stew around the table before taking one for himself and departing. Moxi grabbed the pewter spoon beside her and shoveled as much broth into her mouth as quickly as she could. The sergeant watched happily, “My aunt’s recipe. Quail-egg and vodka broth with magpie liver and thin strands of mouse meat.” Moxi froze, her arm robotically lowering the spoon back to the table. She pressed her lips together as if it suddenly didn’t taste as swell as it did.

Fen went on, “I swore it when the fog was going to roll in that we had to turn back, or else…”

The sergeant cleared his throat, “Do you not all sit here, Fen? A better commander would not have accepted a turn she thought was so dangerous.”

“Uncle Hadrien!” She protested.

“That’s why you wanted to come all the way here?” Moxi stuck her tongue out at the stew.

Hadrien folded his hands behind his head and leaned back in his chair. “Fen has been this way since she was a baby!” He laughed heartily, “We all thought she’d change a bit after her Sevenday. Thankfully, she’s not a hair different.”

I drank more of the broth out of the thimble they served it to me in. It buzzed over my tongue, both savory and bitter with a subtle taint of saccharine masked as a more pleasant sweetness. It was thick and warm all the way down, so noticeable that it felt hot and heavy in my stomach, only slowly losing its weight.

Fen poked at it with her utensils and wrinkled her nose. One of her fangs hung out over her lower lip as she half-pouted, “Why did you cook it? Great Aunt Elaine always said not to cook it!”

“W-well…” Hadrien muttered, “We were experimenting with it a bit, and the stew is much better hot!”

Moxi’s stomach growled, and her hand shook as she slowly forced another spoonful of broth between her barely-open lips. Her shoulders pinched upward, quivering, and she bent forward slightly, her chin pressing against her collarbone. “Respectfully, I think this would be awful if it wasn’t cooked, Fen.”

Fen pushed her bowl toward Moxi, “Here, you have it then. This recipe was my grandmother’s life’s work. They say she was always good at making all kinds of things, especially this. But this one eluded her after she saw it in a dream, and she spent decades trying to get the ingredients exactly right. What would she do if she saw somebody ruining her magnum opus by cooking it?”

Hadrien tapped his foot against the ground, “Not all the ingredients are as pure out here as the ones that get to the big cities. Cooking it makes it so you can’t get some kind of disease from it.”

“I think I’m already getting one!” Moxi whimpered as she took another bite. This time her mouth curved faintly upward as she swallowed it as if she quite liked it after all. Hadrien forced a polite smile and pressed the palms of his hands together.

He laughed inwardly, “I have been told before that humans find it to be an acquired taste.”

“It is something robust,” My wings flicked out behind me, “and, right fearsome.”

“Indeed!” Hadrien clapped, “When I learned the recipe, my dear old aunt told me it likes to fight. You drop the mouse into the pot, still squirming! And, the quail’s egg has to be broken very carefully, I’ve often lost bits of the eggshell into the broth before!”

“No…” Fen frowned, “You don’t use a pot. You use a bowl. Pots are for cooking things.”

“Private Almondson prefers using a cauldron!” Hadrien chortled. He lifted up his own bowl, pouring the rest of its contents down his throat, little drops spilling down the orange, furry beard on his chin. He slammed it down onto the table, punctuated by a thunderous belch. Moxi began saying something, but was cut off by a loud yawn from the sergeant. He let her start again before loudly slurping at his glass of water. And finally, he tapped his claw against the table and spoke very slowly, “With that, I must ask something of you three in return for my hospitality at this outpost. It is no such horrid manner that I will demand it of you under the moonlight, but I will retire to my bed, and when I see you in the morning, I will give my request to you. It won’t take you out of your way, and nobody will enforce that it is done. It is merely a favor I hope you’d return to me.”

“We mean to leave early in the morning,” I said as he stood up, “you will tell us then?”

“I will require you to stay in Venne at least a day,” He shook his head, “so as to see the nature of this town through your own eyes. However, I repeat that I will not force anything on you. I am an honorable man and a disciplined soldier, and those are not the qualities of soul that demand things of passers by. Instead, I plead that you would. This outpost is not enough, even if it were twice as manned and five times supplied.”

“Is there danger in Venne, Uncle?” Fen’s tail flicked behind her.

“And beyond it,” answered the sergeant, “if there must be for you to hear me. There is nothing to it now, and I am without rest. There will be more to know in the morning,” he marched out of the room toward his quarters, shutting the door behind him.