[Zag isn't exactly the kind of person to linger much at home, but every now and then he does return. He's been doing more that lately, too — the disease in his lungs asks for it. So he's on his way in when he notices the mason jar, and he starts.
A gift? He's not.
He's not used to getting them.
Then again, he's used to giving them first, at least, and he has gifted something to Shalem, too.
He settles on the raised surface near the hearth, bundled with thrown blankets and cushions, and lets the drink warm up as he opens the jar and lets its scent waft to his nose.
It smells lovely, and he barely has the strength to let the tea warm up again by the fire.
Once he does try it, he does lick at his lips, eyebrows arching up.
And then sends Shalem a text message.]
I got your package! It's delicious! Did you make this?
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A gift? He's not.
He's not used to getting them.
Then again, he's used to giving them first, at least, and he has gifted something to Shalem, too.
He settles on the raised surface near the hearth, bundled with thrown blankets and cushions, and lets the drink warm up as he opens the jar and lets its scent waft to his nose.
It smells lovely, and he barely has the strength to let the tea warm up again by the fire.
Once he does try it, he does lick at his lips, eyebrows arching up.
And then sends Shalem a text message.]
I got your package!
It's delicious!
Did you make this?
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