She already explained this part once; she'll pass on doing it again. She does smile at Rhoda when she sees her watching.

She remembers that! Now she's just watching to see how it's actually done. (Theory and practice can be very different. And it's a new kind of food preparation to watch.)

Well, it's done just like this.

It has to marinate for a few hours; I'll start the first batch in the dehydrator before bed, she says, when that chunk of meat is done and she goes for the next one.

Rhoda nods, and kind of assumes that her assistance is probably going to be more of a hindrance than a help, and looks between Pradnakt and Daisy.

Her eyes drift to the cage, and she moves slightly closer - not really expecting the quail to be awake, but still feeling the need to check.

If she looks from just the right angle, she can see him nestled in the woodchips inside the plastic dome - yep, asleep.

She smiles, and her attention splits between watching Pradnakt and Daisy and watching the quail.

Neither of them is very interesting, until Pradnakt starts reciting poetry in time with her chopping.

Ooh. Rhoda breathes out and rests her arm on the table, and rests her head on her arms, looking across at Pradnakt while she recites.

She sends impressions, along with it: snowy wooded hills at night, the bite of cold, the muted jingle of a horse's harness bells; a sense of appreciation, and balanced responsibility and tiredness, and moving on into the dark.

Her eyes drift unintentionally closed with those images, a shiver running down her spine. It's...pleasant is not the right word, but the images make her feel something she can't quite put her finger on, but it's nothing bad.

The poem ends, and she starts another one: spring, and the scent of new growth; walking along a stone wall, occasionally stopping to repair it, to divide the part that is hers from the part that is not - and an underlying sense of futility - the wall won't stay - and needfulness - it's dangerous out there; futile as it is, the wall helps - and hints of dissatisfaction and even curiosity - what would it be like to not need the wall? is that even possible?

Rhoda isn't sure what to do with that. The feelings behind it feel tantalisingly familiar, yet very alien. And- She has another feeling, one she can't identify clearly, but...she wants to...somehow, comfort Pradnakt? She thinks? It feels like something Pradnakt might need comfort for...

Aww. You are a comfort.

And...that's confusing. How? she asks before she's even really thought about it. (No-one's ever thought of her as a comfort before.)

You're - safe - a good kid, I don't have to worry about keeping you at a distance. And it's easy to do good for you.

There's that warm glow again, and Rhoda smiles into her arms, even though she wants to argue the 'good kid' point (she's not so sure, but Pradnakt seems fairly certain). I'm glad I can help you.

See? Good.

...that easy?

"Mmhmm." There are plenty of people who wouldn't feel that way.

Probably, she agrees, seeming a little hesitant to agree to that, although at the same time being completely unsurprised by that assessment.

If there were more people who felt that way, your life would have been different, before now. Maybe not good enough, but different.

She pauses for a moment, and then nods slowly, thoughtfully. (Not entirely accepting, but definitely considering.) Better now, she sends, surprisingly firmly.

Good.

And apparently that's that, and it is that easy. She smiles slightly into her arms. (It's strange, and nice, being able to be good that easily.)

She looks back at Daisy to see what stage food has reached.

Almost done; the potatoes are out of the pot and being mashed, now.