Eating wyvern

Argolaith's feet pounded steadily against the soft earth as he trekked further into the depths of the forest, each step carrying him closer to the towering mountain on the horizon. 

Despite his growing sense of fatigue, he pushed forward, knowing that the goal was within reach. But even the most seasoned wanderer must occasionally heed the call of their own body. 

After hours of walking, his muscles began to ache in protest, his energy slowly dwindling. 

It was not exhaustion that overwhelmed him, but the subtle weight of travel, the constant movement, the creeping sense that he needed to rest before his body forced him to.

"Well, this looks like a good enough spot to relax for a bit," he muttered, his eyes scanning the surroundings. 

The forest here was quiet, the trees ancient and towering, their thick trunks reaching skyward as if to touch the heavens. 

A small clearing provided a welcome respite. This would do. 

"Maybe a quick nap to get some energy back. Let my legs rest for a bit. A few hours won't hurt."

Argolaith made himself comfortable on the soft grass, leaning against a large rock at the edge of the clearing. 

He closed his eyes and let the gentle sounds of the forest soothe him. The rustling leaves, the chirping of distant creatures, and the faint hum of magic that always lingered in the air, calming his thoughts. 

There was a sense of peace here, albeit fleeting. He knew well that the tranquility of the forsaken forest never lasted long. Even as he slipped into a light sleep, the tension of his journey never quite left him.

The hours passed like a blur. In the peaceful stillness of his nap, time seemed to stretch and bend around him, the forest cradling him in its eternal embrace. 

The feeling of exhaustion that had plagued him before soon faded, replaced by the simple relief of rest. 

As the sun climbed higher in the sky, its golden rays filtered through the canopy above, casting a warm glow over the clearing. 

Argolaith stirred, his muscles stiffening as he slowly woke, stretching his limbs as the weight of slumber lifted. He groaned slightly as he sat up, shaking off the remnants of sleep.

"Well, that was just what I needed," he murmured to himself, wiping the sleep from his eyes. 

His body felt refreshed, though his stomach growled in protest. The long walk had worked up an appetite, and now it was time to tend to it. 

He stood, brushing the dirt from his clothes, and began to survey the area around him. The sun was now directly overhead, marking the time as noon. It was the perfect moment to prepare a meal.

"What should I make today?" he pondered aloud. "Something light, yet hearty. I'm in the mood for something that will fill me up but not weigh me down."

Argolaith reached into his storage ring, pulling out a collection of ingredients from his various hunts and forages. 

His fingers danced through the items, pausing briefly over a few that caught his attention. 

His mind wandered to the wyvern meat he had harvested the day before, the large creature now taking up a portion of his ring. 

He had initially planned to use it for something more substantial, but perhaps today would be the day he tried cooking with it.

"Hmmm," Argolaith mused, holding the wyvern meat in his hand. "I'll give it a go. Let's see what all the fuss is about."

The ancient tomes he had studied indicated that wyvern meat could be tough and unpleasant, with a flavor that left much to be desired. 

But there was no harm in experimenting. Perhaps with the right seasoning, he could turn it into something palatable. 

After all, he was no stranger to the art of cooking with unusual ingredients.

"I think I'll cook some of this wyvern meat, just to see how it turns out," he decided, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "But what should go with it?"

His mind wandered to the magical plants he had gathered on his journey. He had a few left, some of which were particularly good for stamina and vitality. 

A few sprigs of moonshroom, some mossroot, and a pinch of everbloom would add an interesting complexity to the dish. 

He also had a small vial of moon water, a rare substance he had acquired on one of his earlier adventures. 

The liquid was known for its magical properties, said to enhance the flavors of food while imparting a mild sense of calm and well-being to the consumer.

"Oh, I know," Argolaith said, his eyes lighting up with a spark of inspiration. 

"I'll sauté the meat with the magical plants, and then I'll use the moon water to steam it. That should give it a rich, savory flavor while keeping the texture tender."

With his plan in mind, Argolaith set to work. He quickly gathered dry wood from the surrounding forest, making sure to stack it carefully in a pile. 

He dug a small pit in the earth and arranged the wood for a fire. As the flames crackled to life, he took a small cast-iron pan from his storage ring and set it over the fire to heat. 

The scent of the wood smoke mixed with the fresh air around him, adding a layer of anticipation to the meal he was preparing.

The wyvern meat sizzled as he dropped it into the pan, and the faint aroma of it began to waft through the air. 

Argolaith added a dollop of troll fat, melting it into the pan to use as oil. The rich, savory scent filled the air, and he added the magical plants, stirring them gently with a wooden spoon. 

He took a moment to appreciate the process. Cooking had always been something he found calming. 

The rhythmic motion of preparing a meal was a contrast to the violence of battle, a reminder that even in the midst of an unpredictable world, there were moments of simple joy.

"This smells good," Argolaith said, nodding to himself as the pan began to fill with the scents of cooking meat and herbs. 

"Now, I just need a lid for when I steam it. Let's see… Ah, there it is."

He rummaged through his storage ring and found the lid, placing it carefully over the pan. 

The moon water, a pale, shimmering liquid, was poured in slowly, filling the air with a soft, otherworldly fragrance. 

It was subtle but potent, and as the steam began to rise, Argolaith found himself wondering why the wyvern meat had such a bad reputation. It smelled fine enough now—nothing unusual.

"Well, I'll let it steam for a bit," he said, watching the vapor curl upward. 

"I wonder why the old tomes said it leaves more to be desired. Maybe they didn't know how to cook it properly."

As the meal cooked, Argolaith decided to use the time to train. His body needed to stay sharp, and there was no better way to do that than by swinging his sword. 

He unsheathed it from his back and began to practice his form, his movements precise and fluid. His strikes cut through the air with a whisper, each motion deliberate and controlled. 

In his mind, he was fighting opponents more skilled, faster, and stronger than he was. His sword was an extension of his body, his focus absolute.

The air around him seemed to change, becoming restless as his blade sliced through it. 

He could feel the tension, the challenge of fighting invisible foes, and the sharpening of his senses. 

Each practice strike was a reminder of the battles he had faced and those yet to come. 

He fought with the same intensity whether the opponent was real or imagined. It was this focus that had kept him alive all these years in the forsaken forest.

"Alright," he said, wiping the sweat from his brow as he stopped to check on the food. "I think it should be about done by now."

He lifted the lid from the pan, and a curious smell wafted up into the air. It wasn't unpleasant, but it wasn't exactly appetizing either. 

The wyvern meat had turned a dull, greyish color, and the magical plants had wilted slightly under the steam. A tinge of unease settled in his stomach.

"Well, here goes nothing," he muttered, taking a tentative bite. 

The meat was tougher than he expected, the texture a bit too chewy. The flavor, however, was what truly caught him off guard. 

It was an overpowering bitterness, like something had gone wrong in the process. 

The aftertaste lingered far too long, sharp and unpleasant, coating his mouth with a sensation that made his stomach turn.

Argolaith forced himself to swallow, biting down the nausea that rose in his throat. His face twisted in disgust, but he refused to waste the food. 

After all, he had spent time preparing it, and there were practical uses for all parts of the wyvern.

"Well, that tasted horrible," he said, struggling to keep his composure. "Like rotten eggs slowly simmering in a stew for a week. That's the nicest way I can put it."

But he was a practical man, and no matter how unpleasant the taste, he knew the importance of not wasting resources. 

He had read that wyvern meat could be used in various concoctions, perhaps not as a main dish but as bait for strange creatures. 

With that thought in mind, he set the rest of the wyvern meat aside, planning to use it for hunting or trade later.

"Well, I'll just have to finish this," Argolaith said, forcing another bite down. "It's not going to get any better, but at least it's something."

Time seemed to crawl as he struggled through the rest of the meal. Every bite was a chore, and the taste lingered far too long in his mouth. 

Yet, he pressed on, knowing that this, too, was part of the journey. Not every meal could be a masterpiece. 

Some were meant to remind him of the harsh realities of survival.

"Well," Argolaith muttered as he finished the last of the wyvern meat, "at least I won't be hungry anymore. Time to keep moving."

With a sigh, he packed up his things, leaving the remnants of his meal behind. The mountain was still a long ways away.