"Let’s go," the tanner’s wife scoffed, turning away. "It’s just a trick."
The crowd began to turn, the novelty wearing off, replaced by the bitter taste of disappointnt.
Liora nudged him with confusion in her eyes, and others also looked anxiously.
But Sol just gave them an assuring smile and calmly watched them turn. He waited for the tension to peak, for the anger to reach its boiling point.
"Wait!" he suddenly called out.
The command stopped them. They turned back, glaring.
"I don’t just want at," Sol shouted, his voice ringing with authority. "I want whatever edible you have, even those you throw away."
Hearing this, confusion rippled through the group. Brows furrowed.
"Bring your bones!" Sol declared, gesturing grandly to the empty basket next to a terrified Veyra. "Bring the scraps! The intestines you don’t want, but cleaned already! The tough roots you can’t chew! The bitter herbs! The heads! The hooves! Everything and get this steaming hot soup in exchange."
He looked at them, his eyes challenging.
"I will trade this golden elixir... for your trash!"
The villagers stared at him. The silence stretched, heavy and bewildered. Was he crazy? Who traded cooked food for garbage? Was this a joke?
"You lie," the tanner’s wife spat, narrowing her eyes. "You would give that..." she pointed a trembling finger at the steaming pot, "...for bones? For trash?"
"Well, not literal trash, I will decide, which one is okay and which not. Anyways, try ." Sol dared her.
The tanner’s wife glared at him, her chest heaving with indignation. She looked around at the watching crowd, feeling the pressure of their eyes. She couldn’t back down now without looking like a coward, but she also didn’t want to be made a fool of.
"Fine," she spat.
She reached into the folds of her heavy fur wrap and pulled out a grease-stained leather sack. She dumped the contents onto the wooden table Veyra was guarding.
Clatter. Clatter.
A pile of joints fell out... knobby, gristly knee joints, stripped clean of all good at, leaving only the connective tissue and the bone. It was the definition of refuse, usually boiled down for glue or thrown out.
"There," she sneered, crossing her thick arms. "There is your ’trash.’ Now give the elixir."
The crowd murmured. It was a pathetic offering. If Sol refused, he was a liar. If he accepted, he was a fool.
Sol didn’t blink. He looked at the pile of dry bones as if they were eralds.
"An excellent vintage," he quipped smoothly. He nodded to Veyra. "Accept it."
Veyra hesitated, looking at the bones with disgust, but under Sol’s gaze, she swept them into the basket.
Sol turned to the cauldron. He dipped the ladle deep, scraping the bottom to get the bits. He brought up a steaming serving... golden broth, a slice of caralized tuber, and a glistening slick of red chili oil on top.
He poured it into a gourd bowl and held it out.
"Here, I would have given you at too, but since you insulted , I would only give you this."
The tanner’s wife snatched the bowl from his hands, slopping a bit of hot liquid onto her thumb. She hissed, licking it off instinctively.
Her eyes widened slightly at the taste on her thumb... salty, fatty, spicy.
She brought the bowl to her lips. She blew on the steam, her expression still twisted in a scowl of anticipation, ready to spit it out and call him a fraud.
She took a sip.
Ti seed to stop in the square.
The scowl didn’t just vanish; it shattered. Her eyebrows shot up into her hairline. Her mouth opened, then closed, then opened again as she took a frantic, much larger gulp.
Then another. Then another.
She drank as if she had been wandering a desert for forty years. She tipped the bowl back, ignoring the heat that must have been scalding her throat, draining it until only the dregs remained. She licked the rim, her tongue chasing every drop of fat.
When she finally lowered the bowl, she was panting. Her face was flushed a vibrant, healthy red. Her eyes were watery, but they were shining with a euphoric glaze.
"It..." she wheezed, clutching her chest. "It burns... but it’s... oh, spirits..."
She looked at the crowd, who were waiting with bated breath.
"It’s real," she whispered, her voice trembling. "It tastes like the marrow of a god. It’s spicy! It wakes up your blood!"
She turned back to Sol, slamming the empty bowl down on the table. The arrogance was gone, replaced by the desperate, wide-eyed look of an addict.
"I have more," she gasped, digging frantically into her pouches. "I have hooves! I have a stomach lining! I have a tail!"
The dam broke.
The silence of the square shattered into a roar of chaos.
"! Take mine!" "I have bones! Big bones!" "Sol! Look here!"
The crowd surged forward, a tidal wave of desperate, hungry humanity. The skepticism was obliterated, replaced by the primal fear of missing out. If the tanner’s wife... the pickiest woman in the tribe... said it was good, it was gold.
"Line!" Sol shouted, his voice booming over the din, enhanced by a pulse of Ash Gray energy. "Form a line or no one eats!"
It was pandemonium, but it was profitable pandemonium.
Veyra was swamped. She scrambled to accept the barrage of "trash" being thrust at her... bloody ribs, gray intestines, cracked skulls, feet, tails. The empty basket filled up in seconds. Then the second basket. Then they had to start piling it on the ground.
"By the stars," Veyra muttered, tossing a liver onto the pile. "They’re actually doing it. They’re trading food for garbage."
Sol worked the ladle like a machine. Scoop. Pour. Serve.
"Enjoy, sister. That gut will make a fine stew next ti." "Careful, elder. The heat is strong today."
"And you I rember you insulted before, your portion is less, What you want more? Then give more. It’s up to you take it or not, wise choice, enjoy."
He watched their faces. As the chili hit their systems, the square filled with the sounds of gasping, panting, and moaning. The spice made them sweat, cooling them in the midday heat. The salt replenished their electrolytes. The fat gave them energy.
They weren’t just eating; they were getting high on flavor.
And Sol was the dealer.
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