It didn’t matter whether they were able to identify the protein source or not. There was basic cleaning and preparation methods that worked with pretty much everything. They were taught to watch for anything that even vaguely resembled the defense mechanism of some creatures that was more of a retaliation/revenge in her book than self-defense—poisons released into the meat at death or when death was imminent—like certain sea creatures on Earth.
She didn’t figure she had to worry too much about whether or not it was edible, though. She was certain Zhor had either been taught or had learned by trial and error which animals were safe to eat and which weren’t.
In any case, he generally cleaned what he brought in and left it soaking in the frigid water basin until he was ready to cook it.
He subsisted primarily on protein as far as she could see—which was probably why he had such a well defined musculature. But he had brought up a few wrinkled, withered looking roots and what looked like berries and nuts.
She washed the cook pot out and then built a fire and set the pot to heating while she looked over the edible vegetation he’d provided, sniffed it once she’d washed it and tasted it to determine the flavor of each.
She cut the meat into small pieces and threw it into the pot to brown with some of the vegetables she’d determined had a flavor reminiscent of a cross between onion and apples. When the meat had had time to absorb that flavor and browned to seal in the meat juices, she took the pot off the fire and filled it with water and a good portion of the roots.
She thought that would be enough of a flavor medley to appeal without being overwhelming.
Zhor usually threw in everything he could find and she rather thought that was an unfortunate habit. The more the better might be a good rule of thumb when one was talking quantity—although she would argue that wasn’t always the case—but it certainly didn’t work well when you were talking about combining flavors.
Once it started boiling and the aroma began to fill the cavern rooms, she was more than satisfied with her efforts. She was hungrily anticipating the chance to taste it and discover if it was actually as good as it smelled.
To distract herself from her rumbling stomach—because she knew the fire was an inefficient heating source and would take a good bit of time to cook the food—she turned her attention to cave cleaning.
There wasn’t actually much she could do to make the place more comfortable, unfortunately. Zhor had very little and nothing that she could determine had actually been fashioned for the purpose of cleaning.
She did make one discovery, however, that she found highly embarrassing and disturbing.
The textiles within the cavern werenotthe work of primitives. All of it was old, in some cases rotten from age, and stained from usage and poor cleaning efforts, but it was finely woven—finely enough she thought it was entirely possible that it was woven by machine.
The leather work was far newer and far more primitive in design and craftsmanship.
It was a conundrum, one she wasn’t immediately able to solve, but she was embarrassed that she hadn’t noticed the trappings of advanced civilization before. She’d been with Zhor for weeks—usedthe blanket—and it hadn’t occurred to her, once, to really look at the things he possessed.
Because she had assumed he was what he first appeared to her to be—a primitive, a barbarian—a being that had not even progressed past cave dweller, and she hadn’t made any revisions to that initial impression despite clues sheshouldhave noticed.
Zhor wasn’t a primitive cave dweller!
He was a survivor!
The first rule of surviving was ‘find shelter’.
She was still struggling with denial, still trying to grasp the full ramifications of the situation if it transpired that she was right, when Zhor returned.
