By The Moon's Blade

4. The Festival of the Clouds, Two Years Ago

As we walk around to the food stalls, my stomach growls, alerting me to a sudden aggressive hunger. Upon arriving at the first vendor, the delicious smell of spiced, roasted yellownuts wafts into my face from an oven below and I begin salivating, a small bit of drool almost escaping from my mouth. I resist the urge to ask for a sample as I approach.

"Hi there! Looks like you're here from... Kalenore?" I ask, lifting up and glancing at a piece of paper labeling their stall. I begin scribbling down their stall name and number onto my sheet.

"Yes, first year here. The name is Dain," he states, holding out a hand for each of us to shake. "We don't do much fancy cooking up in Kalenore, just the basic breads and soups, but we have an abundance of embernuts this season and I thought it might be nice to roast some with spices we picked up in Uzul."

"Well, it smells incredible. We wanted to stop by and see if you needed anything else for serving or if you have everything covered."

"All we need are small bowls and we have an abundance of them, so I believe we're all set over here. Thanks for stopping by, I'll be sure to flag you down if anything changes!"

"Great, thanks so much!"

We walk away from the stall and onto the vendor next door. This continues for about an hour, meeting new faces and connecting with quite a few familiar ones. In a festival filled with mouthwatering food, you'd think it would be easy to feel uncomfortably full. But, the food is so different from one vendor to the next, some serving large portions of cured meat while others offer a fresher spread.

Margrave Quinn, an elderly woman living atop a small hill in Snowvein, always brings a recent harvest of autumn fruits and vegetables commonly found in lush gardens before the cold of winter kills any crops. Leafy greens like beryl sprouts, deep-rooted foro with a distinct orange skin, and surprisingly fragrant mellow berries sit atop a long table. Margrave's haul was often too large for one booth, leading the festival's committee to provide two booths by default.

I keep tally of the supplies we need and walk down the next aisle of stalls. Upon turning the corner, we see a familiar wooden sign and find ourselves in front of Torgan's Traveling Bakery, staring up into the eyes of the same friendly Bellarian baker we saw this morning. But this time, his flour-covered apparel has been replaced with a sandy knit sweater and a worn-in blue apron tied around his waist and neck.

"There y'all are, I've been hoping to see you before the festival starts!" Torgan shouts and waves, sporting a massive grin. "I have a feeling I'm going to run out of these honeyed cakes, wanted y'all to try one before the mass gets to them."

My stomach growls vociferously as the word "cakes" spills out of his mouth. Shalia looks over at me with their mouth agape and I suck in my gut to silence the deep rumble. I glance at both of them with an uncomfortable smile on my face, a little sheepish about the incident.

"Oh don't be embarrassed, honestly I'll take that as a compliment," chuckles Torgan in response.

Torgan reaches into a clear case with a gloved hand. On display are a few honeyed cakes, palm-sized pale yellow circles with a distinct rose pattern baked in and drenched in a sticky syrup. He pulls out two cakes and places each in its own small paper tray, handing them to us. We take the cakes from his hand and I immediately pick it up from the tray.

The cake sticks to my fingers and as I lift it up, I'm met with an overwhelming sweetness. Once bitten, the cake softens delicately in my mouth and requires almost no pressure to chew. The sweetness of the syrup is surprisingly balanced by an obscure savoriness in the cake. It's not quite broadweed, but it has the same earthy quality that I've come to expect from Bellari cuisine.