He was no stranger to inhospitality. Trapping mysticals had taken him through every stratum of the Tamelands and into every biome imaginable. Windswept fjords, dusty wastelands, cavernous underground lakes where squirming lichen coated every inch of slippery stone—he’d seen them all. Even when he entered a town, he was as likely to receive hostile glares as free pints at the local tavern, depending on the locals’ attitudes toward trappers like him.

Maybe that was why these humble offerings felt like home.