Aira froze for a bit, her heart thundering, her stomach lurching. Then, finally, she stepped forward. She gritted her teeth together, held her nose with one hand, and went ahead to pick the pieces on the wrap. The smell wrapped around her like rot, but she tossed it into her mouth and swallowed, even as nausea flooded her senses like bile.
She didn't stop. She was about to take another piece, even as her mouth felt like it had been assailed by filth and death, only to watch Rymora jerk away from her and reward the content in her hands.
Shaking her head to show that one was enough, even as Aira—who was clearly unwilling to take another—went ahead to ask with a voice filled with concern:
"One can't be enough?"
But Rymora vigorously responded with a shake of her head that one was more than enough, even as she went ahead to stash it back into the bag with swift, urgent movements. The smell followed her, trailing like a death-marked perfume.
