"Well, don't eat the jug," says Promise. "I suppose if you broke it I'd have a weak claim of debt. Do you want me to pour you cupsful before I go?"
"Anything happen while I was out?"
"You could read my books if you like. Fred, if you're hungry, let me know before I start diving into serious sorcery."
Promise puts down the flower-petal bag and chops and mixes things in the kitchen until she has a bowl of... stuff. None of it looks strongly reminiscent of Earth food, though it does all seem to be plants.
When she has done this she portions it - a bowl for herself and one for Savannah - and then sits near Savannah and picks up a chunk of something pale pink and holds it up to be eaten out of her hand.
"Priorities," he mutters. Then, at a more regular volume: "Promise, may I read your books, and if so, which ones are starter guides on gatemaking?"
Promise feeds Savannah another chunk of something. "I'm doing this so you don't starve, not to entertain you - yes, go ahead, and gatemaking isn't remotely introductory but a starter sorcery book would be the blue one third shelf up far left."
The chunks of stuff have various textures and flavors, some of which could be described as something as mundane as "a cross between artichoke and persimmon with the texture of a dried papaya" and some of it far more unfamiliar; the dressing on them is sweet without being sticky and spicy without being hot. It's altogether bizarre.
When Savannah has been fed the entire bowl of stuff, Promise eats her own bowlful, and then gets started reading through the books she brought home.
"Please tell me," says Fred after an hour, "that this is not going to be what the next few weeks consists of."
"If you want to dust or wash the dishes or weave me a rug or something I won't stop you."
"Auuugh," groans Fred, and then because she has no better idea of something to do - she starts cleaning.