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month record rogue 5 7 3
After marching through the desert for a month, and facing countless battles large and small, the soldiers are at their limit. Unending sands, unchanging rations, unseasoned meals. Despite the best efforts of the Young Cook in their ranks, it is hard to make much out of brown rice porridge and beast jerky. Even so, the men treasure his cooking, licking every plate clean and showering him in praise. While he always shoos them off, his waggling tail tells a different story.
During his centuries-long tour of the human realm, sampling every flavor there is, the Young Cook had begged his eldest brother to allow him to accompany the troops. All he sees now are desert sands, howling gales, and gleaming blades. Nothing worth seeing, as expected. He only wanted to prepare good meals for people desperate for one. But whenever he hands them out, there are always a few bowls left unclaimed. While he can't end the fighting, he wonders what else he could do.
The vanguard returns with a report. They have discovered an oasis up ahead. The Young Cook heads over to take a look. He is surprised to see tiny fins swimming in its waters. He slaps his fist into his palm, going: 'I've got it!'
Through their tents, the soldiers distantly hear the Young Cook swear up a storm as he falls into the oasis pool during his clumsy attempts to catch the fins. They head over to help him, eventually catching enough for all the men. They watch him hammer away at the meat, knead dough, and circle the oasis to gather wild herbs. Soon, he even shoos away the vanguard sent over to 'reconnoiter' the mess tent, leaving the men to endure the scent of fresh fin wafting over as they swallow their drool.
Eventually, he opens up his pot, and even the most hardened of soldiers gasp, shocked speechless—
The pot is filled with steaming finmeat noodles. Delicate flesh has been worked into the dough, forming pearlescent noodles, studded with bright green herbs and boiled to pale perfection. Who would have thought they'd be able to have a piping-hot bowl of noodles in the desert? For a time, the only thing heard in the camp is the sound of slurping. The Young Cook wipes the sweat off his brow. As he looks over everyone engrossed in their bowls, he feels deeply satisfied.
'If you guys liked it, I can make some more next time.' He stands proud, his hands on his hips.
The men nod furiously, then repeatedly shake their heads and sigh.
'Wh-What's wrong? Is the taste off?' he asks nervously.
'I was just reminded of the roast beast trotter you can get by the gate of my hometown. We'd always buy some whenever there was something to celebrate. The last time I had it was when I passed the troop selection...'
'I was thinking of the noodle soup I had as a kid. My mom would always add a big spoonful of pickled veggies. Man... The pickles she made were so sour, and I'd get an earful if I didn't finish them, haha.'
'I wonder what my wife and kids are having tonight...'
The men cup their bowls in their hands and stare up at the moons as they quietly chat about their pasts. Some pull out amulets given to them by family, others caress the fine darning on their clothes. While the desert noodles were certainly delicious, what they truly yearn for are the ordinary tastes of home.
Flavors like that... The Young Cook sits, listens, and lets his imagination run wild.
'Hey, Young Cook, you should open up a restaurant when we get back. With skills like yours, it's bound to be a hit.'
'Just make sure not to price me out, haha!'
The Young Cook jokes with the men. There are many things across the land. Prosperity, beauty, decay, pain. He has supped of them all. Now, he finally understands which flavors he likes the most.
