Corvin's days were passing in relative ease and rare relaxation, though the ease was usually dependent on one variable: whether or not Valyne decided to invade his schedule. But today, for the most part, was peaceful. The sky was clear, painted in soft blues, and the ravens above the valley flew in wide, lazy circles, their caws echoing like lazy chimes.
In the formal dining hall, Corvin sat alone, enjoying a rare occasion: a perfectly seared steak, tender and rich, paired with something far more exotic, Ranch Sauce.
Yes, Ranch. Of all things.
It had taken days of experimentation, some tragically bad tastings, and more than a few maids who were convinced he had lost his mind. But he'd done it. The flavor was smooth and tangy, creamy with a hint of herbs. It reminded him of something faint and distant from his former life, a taste that should've been forgotten, comforting, absurd, and strangely personal.
