I never judge a child for the absence of their parents. Nor a soldier for the failings their commanders.

[ She intones back, letting go of the blade as he came up behind and beside her. A stiff nod to him to let him work, and the rest of the ingredients she'd gathered, what she wants to be done to most of them. Chopped and sliced. ] You sew? What a gift.

[ She walks away from him to the fire, to the pot she puts on it. Letting it heat up before she takes the butter, syrup and honey. Butter, then the syrup, the honey she uses sparingly. Gentlest amount to give flavour and nothing else. It sizzles hot, an oil that immediately fills the space of the kitchen with a smell that's sweet and rich. ] I'll recruit you next time I have to spend hours stitching together ripped uniforms.