Healing Touch

The pot bubbled contentedly, wood cracked in the fireplace, steam hissed from a kettle, knife tapped a rhythmic staccato on the cutting board and a spoon tinkled in a glass. A tenuous soprano voice hummed melodic words.
Zaria practically didn't leave her little workroom in the days after the dinner. But even in her loneliness, she now felt more watched at every turn. It might have all the trimmings of home, this fortress, but she never forgot she is not a guest nor a member of the household.
But somehow, with jida's recipes and incantations, even shackles seemed more bearable.