Across the camp, Mei Mei spotted her and bounded over, eyes bright with excitement. “You’re awake! I wanted to wake you earlier, but Níang said to let you rest.”
Reiya smiled. “I’m awake now. Are there any chores I can help with?”
“We still need more wood for the fire. Want to come?”
The eagerness in the girl’s voice teased a smile from Reiya. “Lead the way.”
They walked toward the tree line not far from the beach, the cool morning breeze carrying the scent of damp leaves and sea salt. Mei Mei skipped ahead, basket in hand, her small fingers expertly testing branches, snapping twigs, checking for dryness with the kind of ease that betrayed her expertise. Confidence laced the child’s movements—not arrogance, just familiarity.
Reiya followed her example, selecting and snapping wood, a flickerof satisfaction sparking with each addition to the pile. Mei Mei grinned, dimples deepening.
“Yours is almost as big as mine,” she whispered, as if sharing a secret.
“Almost,” Reiya teased, winking. “But not quite.”
“Still, it’s quite good!”
“That’s because I have the best teacher.” She brushed a lock of hair from Mei Mei’s brow.
The girl beamed. “Lao lao says I always find the best firewood.”
Reiya smiled despite herself, some of the tightness in her chest easing.
When they returned to camp, they set about arranging the wood. Mei Mei crouched beside her, patiently guiding each step.
“You gotta breathe on it,” she said, puffing gently at the embers. “Like this.”
Reiya mimicked her, watching the sparks catch, flames curling around the kindling.
“See? Not so hard.” Mei Mei grinned.
Relief and pride mingled as warmth chased away the morning chill. The task was simple, yet it felt like something she should’ve learned long ago.
The girl tilted her head. “You’ve really never done this before?”
Reiya hesitated. How could she explain the life she left behind—one of luxury, where servants handled every need? Instead, she shrugged.
“No. Where I come from, someone else always did these things.”
Mei Mei blinked but didn’t press. “Well, now you know,” she said cheerfully. “Soon you’ll be doing it all the time.”
Su Lian approached, with a kettle in one hand and a cooking pot in the other.
Reiya stood. “May I help, Su Lian?”
The woman paused, perhaps remembering last night’s disaster. For a moment, Reiya thought she’d refuse.
But the woman smiled. “Of course.”
She handed her a clay pot filled with water. “We make porridge forbreakfast. Grains, goat butter, herbs, and sea salt. Simple, but it keeps us going.”
Su Lian guided her through the process—when to add the grains, how to season without overwhelming the delicate flavours.
“Not too much salt,” she warned. “A pinch is enough. The herbs already carry the sea’s brine. Too much will ruin it.”
Reiya nodded, stirring carefully. The fire’s warmth seeped into her hands, and the fragrant steam rising from the pot was oddly comforting.
When the porridge was finished, it gleamed with a velvety sheen, thick and inviting, its aroma a blend of creamy butter and wild grasses.
