“What is that?” Riskardoo indicated the rabbit in Padarmic’s arms with disdain as she entered the hut, followed by the massive hulk of a bodyguard they employed.

Padarmic looked up at his sister. “It’s my bunny. I made it today at the tavern.” Risk allowed these bouts of whimsy, as they had lent especially well to his education. “I’ve had trouble feeding her, Risk. She doesn’t seem to be interested in this finger I’ve prepared.”

Riskardoo looked over the herbs and other concoctions strewn about the dirt floor. “It all looks OK, how did you treat it?” Pad glanced in the bodyguard’s direction. “I used Vent’s undergarments to suspend the mixture while it cured.” An uneasy look crossed Ventus’ visage, then passed. He was paid to take this stuff and paid well.

“Put it away, Pad. We should focus on our own dinner right now.” The young priest nodded and whispered into the rabbit’s ear.

A few minutes later, the lass woke up in the tavern with a splitting headache and a horrible taste in her mouth.