Ouroboros Spine xlviv. that one will die

The rusted islander's kindness spurred her ears to splay against her skull demurely, smiling with silent gratitude as warmth bloomed in her chest. It never failed to surprise her how she had been so easily accepted by the moonwolves -- likely on account of the low self-esteem that had begun to become bolstered since joining the village and adopting their ways. "That does not mean I cannot be grateful for your help," it was half chiding, half playful jesting. He was a good leader and a noble man but the botanist did not want Aiolos to feel she expected him to look after her just because of his position in the pack's hierarchy. 

"I crushed garlic and herbs with a stone," her grin showed she was pleased he had asked, excited to share her knowledge but bashful in broaching the subject on her own accord. She mimed a slightly exaggerated gesture -- as if picking up a rock in her jaws and smushing a pile of invisible ingredients. "And then one just rubs it into the meat with their muzzle before drying it in the sun. I find it can leave the coat smelling rather strong but it often helps clear the airways too." It was not a length that the dove always went to when preparing meat for storage but it could make the flavor of older game a little more palatable and offer variety in the midst of winter when fresh food was not so readily available.