looked like the perfect place to camp, though, so I paused. “I’m going to set up here for the night.”
“Sounds good.” Indigo nodded and glanced my way. “I’m just going to show her where the aquifer is. Be right back.”
He was gone just long enough for me to unpack my horse and get a fire started.
“Your aunt didn’t wait for me to leave before she began to undress,” he announced as he appeared in the clearing. “I think I’ll be traumatized for life.” Then he gave a quick grin and wiggled his eyebrows. “Hey, do you want me to show you where the springs are later on?”
“You’re not seeing me naked,” I answered dryly, before realizing he probably already had that first day we’d skirmished at the spring. So I scowled and added, “Not ever again.”
With a husky chuckle, he squatted in front of the fire, just across the flames from me. “Ah, well. I had to try, though, right?”
I snorted and poked at the burning tinder, trying to get the heat up.
“So what’re you cooking tonight?” he asked. “Hey, can you show me how to make that stick bread stuff? It looked and smelled amazing.”
I glanced up, surprised he wanted to learn how to cook something. I hadn’t been planning on making any loaves tonight, we weren’t going to sell anymore anytime soon, and they took longer to make than I wanted to spend in front of a fire right now.
But I found myself saying, “Um, okay. I guess. Yeah, I could show you.”
“Great.” He rubbed his manacled hands together eagerly. “What do you need me to do?”
It was bizarre to have such a willing student. I was used to Melaina’s company, and she preferred to boss me around; she never took any kind of instruction from me. But guiding someone else actually sounded nice. So while I gathered the ingredients, I had Indigo find the mixing bowls, measuring cups, cooking board, and stirring spoons.
“Will this ladle work?” he asked, holding up the water ladle we used to drink from.
“There should be a wooden stirrer for mixing in one of the pockets on the left.”
“Oh, okay.” He went back to searching, only to cheer, “Found it.” Holding up the stirrer, he approached and held it out.
“Thank you.” After accepting the spoon, I began to pour the ingredients into the big bowl he’d already found for me. “So to begin, you need one-part water, two-parts flour. Then two big spoons of oil and a small spoon each of sugar, salt, and yeast.”
He shifted closer, watching curiously. “Yeast?”
“Yes. It’ll ferment the sugars in the flour, which releases bubbles of air inside the dough that make it grow bigger and lighter. Fluffier.”
“No shit, really?” he demanded incredulously. “Yeast is what makes your bread look so much more appetizing than the flat and hard, dry, tasteless crap I’ve been eating? Just one little spoonful of that grainy-looking muck?”
My lips tightened in the attempt to keep in a smile. “Your hardtack is unleavened, yes,” I explained. “But your bread will last longer and would be better to have on hand for extended trips. This type of bread we’re making here will perish and grow mold much faster.”
Did he not already know all this? I don’t think he did, because he seemed extremely interested to learn it, and his expression was full of shock. It was kind of entertaining to watch. I liked teaching something new to him.
“No, it wouldn’t perish,” he finally concluded. “Because I’d eat it a damn sight faster, way before it could even think of doing such a thing.”
I blurted out a laugh before I could stop myself. “Is that what bread would think?” I asked. “If it had a brain?”
A playful grin spread across his face as he shrugged. “What else would they think about aside from ways not to get eaten?”
“Like the gingerbread man?” I countered teasingly with a roll of my eyes.
His eyebrows crinkled. “Who?”
So I spent the entire time it took to mix the ingredients into dough telling him the story of the gingerbread man. That was nice too—being able to share stories and experiences I’d learned on Earth. I’d never been able to talk to anyone about any of that before. And Indigo was always eager to hear everything there was to know about the old world.
“Anyway,” I went on, returning to my bread-making instructions when I finished mixing the ingredients. “If we had the counter space, we’d knead this by folding the dough and kind