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((Warning for (non-gory) dead animals!))

Busy day today for Gredya.

First she's in the kitchen, putting up one more freezer bag of meat. That's enough for now, she thinks: she's filled one shelf, a cache for the hardest times of winter. She has another bag, marked again with a note like last time: Ganibal Leckter. You see this before? Gredya. It'll wait for him at one end of the bar if he doesn't happen to show up. Inside--if anyone cares to snoop on Lecter's mail!--is a smallish dog-like creature (deceased) with a forked tail-tip and oddly squared-off ears.

Once she's taken care of that, she heads outside with a stack of books. It's not just her adult-literacy text now. She's expanding her reading material.

(And she's botherable in either location!)

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Finally, Dr. Lecter starts slicing the ginger.

Gredya is discovering the persistent stickiness and smell of garlic juices. She licks her fingers while she watches him slice the ginger, wipes them on her tunic, and eventually resorts to plucking a handful of tall grass to rub between her palms to get some of the stuff off.

"You could wash your hands in the lake, or in the kitchen," Dr. Lecter remarks.

She looks at him somewhat coldly. "After, I will."

"Then we can now combine everything in this bowl," Lecter says, putting in tomatoes, ginger, and salt.

Gredya adds the conquered garlic. "And then, wait a day or two, you said?"

"Yes," he says. "Putting the creature in first, of course."

Of course. Gredya nods briskly. "And it could feed a few people."

"It could," he agrees, adding the rest of the ingredients to the marinade. "It wasn't exactly chihuahua sized. Don't be startled, this is a bit loud."

He picks up a longish white device which emits a loud whine, and starts stirring the marinade. Not only do the ingredients combine, the machine also turns the marinade into one smooth, viscous liquid.

What an unpleasant thing. Gredya watches it with suspicious distaste, from two or three paces back. "It is electric," she asks, when he's done.

"Yes," Dr. Lecter says. "I didn't want to bring out a large food processor."

Gredya makes her usual grumbling sigh. "It is loud," she mutters. Sure, he warned her, but.

"It won't take long," he says, moving the mixer methodically through the bowl.

She crosses her arms and frowns at it until he's done. Although--the thought occurs to her that the noise would keep off scavengers, if you were hanging about a carcass in the middle of the woods, fixing up your marinade. Mixing ideas like that, images, does make the smallest hint of a smile tug at the corner of her lips.

When the marinade is done, Dr. Lecter sets aside the hand mixer, picks up a long, sharp knife and starts dismembering the Set animal. When the knife hits bone, he changes over to the cleaver, and chops through.

She moves back closer, with a small approving nod. "Fast work."

It doesn't take long until the entire creature is chopped up into handy bits that will fit into the large bowls.

Very good. Once the pieces are in the bowls, Gredya gives another small nod. "It is good for now?"

Lecter pours the marinade over it, emptying out the mixing bowl to the last drop while the red, spicy substance oozes smoothly all over the parts of the former Set animal.

It doesn't look mythological at all, now.

This is about the extent of Gredya's patience for cooking, especially with no meal directly forthcoming. "I will help you carry things back, if you need," she says--briskly.

"That would be very kind of you," Lecter says. "This will have to sit in the fridge for some days, and then we can start up the fire pit again and this time roast it."

"I can come?" She assumes so, but better to check.

"Oh yes, of course!" Lecter laughs. "It would be very rude of me to let you work and not allow you to share in the results."

Gredya laughs as well. "Maybe rude, yes. But it is yours. All, if you want."

He chuckles. "I'd have to eat Set animal for an entire week if I want the slightest chance of getting through all that," he says. "This is enough for me, you, and all your children."