Ingredients
As if a familiar voice broke through the steel bars of doubt and discouragement in the confines of his imprisonment Dzeekishah had a moment of clarity. Despite his chains he nearly bolted up off the floor.
Not because his life depended on it, but because the fate of Midgard rested on the knowledge that he had of the location of the stolen relics, Zeek listened attentively.
The simple yet compelling instruction was clear. “Trust.”
Zeek looked at the now cold plate of Alb food on the prison cell floor. The very sight of it initiated an unconscious gag reflex yet he was compelled by something deeper than hunger.
The voice called again, more strongly, “Trust!”
Picking up the fork in his dexterous hand Zeek lifted it up to about half the distance to his mouth. The smell assaulted his cerebral cortex and ignited a spark of protest that flared into a flame of hope.
“I can do this,” he muttered and put the fork to his lips.
He opened up. That first bite was sickeningly sweet. As he started to chew a flood of euphoria hit -intense grief, bitter sorrow and terrible affliction swept through him like a river. In it’s wake he was completely rejuvenated. Something miraculous took place where the ingredients in the food acted like an antivenom to the injuries that he had received. Every thing was in it’s rightful place and he felt good.
A word appeared, “Zeek. Get ready. We are coming to get you out. Wiggles.”
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