Ember

After the latest upheaval in The Tribe, Ember found herself staring into her oven, without the uplifting of spirit she normally felt watching the buns expanding like magic in the heat.
First she assessed the situation logically: was the heat too low, was it not smelling as it should- no, they looked and tasted perfect as ever- though she burned her fingers testing. The wrongness was deeper, she concluded; a sense of something heavy in the pit of her stomach, an ache in her chest that just wouldn't shift. Her eyes slid guiltily to where the cinnamon buns nestled on the shelf, half-hidden under a cloth.
She didn't seem to look forward to making them anymore. Baking anything, really. There were too many reminders, too many harsh words echoed among the stones of her kitchen for her to feel the joy of cooking anymore, and that was making her food taste of nothing but sadness. Ember shook her head, swiping the wet drips from her cheeks with ashen fingers. Enough. Baking was what she was, who she was; her whole life was lived in this kitchen, and if the heart had gone out of it, then she would have to go out and find another.

Ember took the day's baked goods out to cool, and tidied. She scrubbed every inch of the floor, benches, utensils- even cleaned out the ash right at the back of the oven. She laid everything out neatly for the next day; readied the marinades, chopped the vegetables, made the pies, even finished pickling a box of mackerel she'd normally put off until the last possible moment. When the sun finally started to creep down towards the end of its arc on the horizon and sunk into its watery bed, Ember laid the last implement down reverentially, took a deep breath, then did something she hadn't done in years. She reached up, moved a stone behind the fireplace aside, reached into a hidden space there, fingers sifting through the dust- and pulled out a small volume, bound in leather, stuffed to the gunnels with hand-written notes and smudged stolen clippings. It was her secret recipe journal, which she'd compiled over years of hard work and dutiful learning from every traveller that came their way. Her life's work, her most precious possession. A long bookmark stuck out from one edge, with a dangling cord that clinked pleasantly as she lifted the book free from the hiding place- a small chain of shells trailed sadly in the dust, and for a moment Ember's resolve faltered, her eyes caught in place as her vision swam with unshed tears.
Ember clutched the book to her chest, cradling the half-broken shells in her fingers tenderly, remembering when she'd gathered them up off the floor when Leilani had stormed out of her bakery that day and torn her net in her rage. The shells were broken, though, like what they'd had together, and neither could be mended the same.
But that, too, was alright. If the creatures inside the shells hadn't perished, they couldn't have made the garments which made Leilani so happy- and if grain didn't perish, it couldn't be baked into bread to nourish hungry mouths and let hatchlings grow. Things move on, let go, and give way to new things.
Ember smiled, a little sadly, but smiled in gratitude of the closeness she'd had with her best friend. She would miss her, more than anything, but it would be better for them both if there were space to heal. Ember let the bookmark slide through her fingers, but replaced it carefully in her journal and bound both up in some soft oiled muslin, to keep them safe from the elements. She packed up some of her most rare and precious spices in strong bottles with cork stoppers, and hauled out a hardy leather satchel, the one she used for week-long hikes to other clans' markets. This time, though, she took her best heavy frying pan, her long-handled ladle, and packed everything in the huge ancient cooking pot she once fed eight Imperials in. Struggling a little under the weight, she nevertheless righted the burden enough to stride confidently out of her bakery, down the steps along the cliffs edge, through the winding paths to the gate. The guard posted nodded to her, and she returned it casually. She looked for all the world as if she were merely off to seek more herbs or something, not leaving for good- she did not want long explanations, or arguments, or recriminations- not right now.

She travelled for some weeks, her food supplies growing thinner by the day. She found she was not as adept at hunting or gathering as she once was, being a ‘kept’ dragon ill-suited to the rigours of the outdoors, with open fires cooking things unevenly if at all, and with plant protein ‘meat’ incredibly hard to come by. She traded some of her skills to work as a ship’s cook, for awhile, until the captain berated her for spending too much of the ship’s loot on expensive and ‘unnecessary’ vegetables and fresh fruit. Incensed, she gave him a piece of her mind, educating him thoroughly on the necessity of fresh fruit and vegetables for the necessary production of micronutrients and the proper movement of the bowels, and she was thrown off the ship at the next port for her insolence.

So it was, she wound up wandering through the Viridian forests with a heavy heart and a much lighter satchel.
When she was too tired to walk on, blisters on her feet, she struck a fire in a small clearing by a stream- and with the last of her flour and a few herbs she’d picked on the path side, she began to bake her latest creation, Pot-bottom-buns. They weren’t about to win any major culinary awards, but they were wholesome and fresh and tasty enough. She took them off the heat, letting the pan cool by itself, and putting the fire out by sweeping earth over the ashes.
She was just about to pick up the bun to take a bite, when a whirring of wings and a loud ‘whump’ nearby heralded the approach of a dragon. Timidly, she called out- “Who’s there?!”
A great deal of rustling later, and a very large tundra poked his head politely around a tree. “Pardon the interruption miss, but is that baking I smell?”
“It is,” Ember began, hesitantly- the tundra looked intently at her pot on the fire.
“Only I’ve just returned from a three-day flight to the Southern Icefield, delivering hatchlings to our sister-clan, the Seelie Court, and I’m fair famished- miles and miles of nothing but snow and then open seas can do that to a poor tun- but I caught a whiff of your cookery a few miles off course and decided to stop by to ask if you’d be inclined to share? I could only offer directions in exchange, mark you, so feel free to decline.”
Ember blinked at the large tundra, surprised at his candour- it was quite refreshing, after the few weeks she’d had of unreliable customers. She sighed, looking at the meagre bun in the bottom of her pot, and up at the vast tundra which regarded it with greedy eyes. There wasn’t enough for two, and she knew it. Ember sighed;
“Let it never be said she’d leave an empty stomach leave from my kitchen-“ She hesitated- “Well, glade.” She waved generally at the fireside. "Join me."
The Tundra gratefully waddled over to stretch out by Ember's small fire, lying down flat in exhaustion, nose pressed up close to the fireside. "Shells of the forefathers, but I'm knackered!" He sighed happily as Ember produced the bun from the pan, blowing on it quickly to cool it enough to handle. Ember found her heart oddly gladdened by the company, and by the delighted way the Tundra smiled at the prospect of food- such a simple pleasure, feeding others, which she had really started to miss in these last few weeks of wandering. She had thought she was happy in her own company, that she didn't need anyone else. Looking at this charming fluffball though, she felt achingly certain this was not so. She'd rarely been so glad to see a friendly face, and this one looked like it was in perpetual readiness for a cuddle. She handed the bun over, and sat back confidently, ready for the tasting.
The tundra, to her suprise, barely seemed to chew as he swallowed the bun up- but he smiled broadly and made a pleased rumble; "That's just the ticket, thankyou again miss! What unusual and tasty herbs you put in- was that cumin and rosemary I tasted? Marvellous! Wherever did you learn to cook like that?"
"Bits and pieces, here and there," Ember smiled slightly, thinking of her special recipe book even now strapped to her chest under her robes so she couldn't be burgled of it- "I'm always learning," She added, so as not to sound too conceited.
"We could do with a grand cook like yourself back in my clan!" The tundra grinned, standing up, showering the ground in crumbs; "Don't s'pose you'd be looking for a job, would you?"
"What, just like that?" Ember quizzed, looking for the flaw in the plan. There had to be a flaw, hadn't there? Her luck couldn't have changed so drastically that jobs were starting to fall out of the sky to find her?
"Just like that." The Tundra tapped his nose knowingly; "I've never been wrong about these things. You smell like a friend, someone that can be trusted." He stuck out a hand to shake- "Cookie." He announced.
"Um, I'm afraid there aren't any more, and anyway it was a bun-" Ember began, but he shook his head with a chuckle;
"No, that's my name. Blame parents with an underactive sense of imagination." He winked, and Ember felt a strange prickling hot sensation so unfamiliar she didn't at once recognise it was a blush.
She smiled as best she could manage, feeling suddenly shy and clumsy and stiff, reached out and shook his hand. "Ember. I've been hoping to find a new home. If you've an oven and ingredients to cook with, I'll make the best feasts you've ever known. That's a promise."
"What an offer! No time to waste then," Cookie picked up her giant iron pot, put the other satchels back inside it, slung it over one shoulder and held out a hand to her, all jubilant confidence and friendliness- "Come on, I'll fly you there."
"What, like, carry me?!" She clapped a hand over her mouth, wishing she hadn't just squeaked like a lovestruck hatchling.
"Of course! One good turn deserves another, and if it's weight you're concerned about, don't worry- I've carried two imperial youngsters once. One under each arm. It took awhile, but we got there in the end." He gave her an appraising smile; "And it's not every day I get to carry such a lovely lady as yourself. It would be my pleasure."

On the way there, Cookie regaled her with tales of his clan, his friends, their leader, Bard- and the strange and wondrous stories that he told. She wondered if he would accept her. Give her a nickname, even. Ember hadn't considered such a thing, but she started to feel genuinely excited at the prospect of this clan. Where they so badly wanted for a professional cook- this young tundra lad,
Marshmallow, sounded totally swamped, and besides, he was a pastry chef first and foremost- those were highly strung at the best of times. Cookie said they had an agar, and a vast kitchen hall that almost no one used- reclaimed from the ruins near the cliffside facing out from the Heart Oak's hill. Cookie said she might well be able to see the silver ribbon of the sea, on a clear day. But she'd be left mostly to her own devices, if she'd be willing only to share the fruits of her labours with the rest of the clan. But Cookie reiterated that she'd be more than welcome to visit him, anytime, bearing baked goods or not. If he could be of any assistance, in any way, then he was her tun.
She tried not to feel bubbling joy at the openhearted smile he gave her as he said this, but she was fighting a losing battle. She hadn't felt this happy in a long while, so when she finally met Bard, and the others, she was fairly glowing with pride and happiness. Bard nicknamed her 'Tigerlilly', because he said she was full of an inner fire and warmth, and an absolute zeal for making people happy and healthy. Ember found the kitchens, heart singing, and didn't even care in the least that the pots and pans were stacked high in the sinks, the dust was an inch thick in places, and one of the chimneys had a bird's nest in it- all the work, the toil, up ahead of her- and it only made this one of the best things since that time she worked out how to make her pavlovas peak properly.
In other words, it was a very good day.