“I am unsure why you would say this, Big John,” Ketil
countered. “In this Land of Dream, surely there is a place where one could bake
things. Or do ghouls find baked goods unpalatable?”
“Oh, Matey, I may have to consume rotting human flesh to
maintain this terrible body, but I still have a great zest for baked goods,”
Little John revealed sorrowfully. “I enjoy eatin’ ‘em, but I love the baking
even more than the eating. When I was alive, my ideal brine and tupper was a
good fresh bit of beef seasoned with savory herbs and accompanied by some
lovely roast tatties, onions, and carrots. I’d have a bit of good wine and some
of me own fresh-baked bread with butter. Loved it you would have, me buckos. T’
was a warm, crusty loaf which tasted just right with butter or cheese or jam.
T’ was fit for a bleedin’ king! But now I’m a living dead thing, and there will
be no bakeries or fine simple suppers. T’ is only rotting flesh for the rest of
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