Tangled in Moonlight: Unshifted novel Chapter 312

312 Lisa: Elverly’s Seasonings 

O 

LISA 

“So, this is the face,” I explain, pointing to my crude circle. “And these are buttons on the side for different functions.” I add a few lumps to represent the buttons. 

The Grand Sage peers at my drawing, stroking his beard thoughtfully. “I see. And you believe we could adapt something like this for magical communication?” 

“Maybe?” I shrug, feeling a bit self–conscious about my suggestion now that I’ve said it out loud. “I mean, I don’t know much about magic. It was just an idea.” 

He nods slowly, his eyes still fixed on my terrible sketch. “You know, Lisa, your idea has some merit. The compact size would certainly be an advantage. Of course, I’d need to acquire some of these watches to see what I could do with them, but it’s an intriguing concept.” 

A warm flush of pride spreads through my chest at his words. It’s nice to feel like I’ve contributed something useful, especially when I often feel so out of my depth in this magical world. 

A strange scratching sound comes from the door, startling me out of my warm glow. I glance at the Grand Sage, who looks equally puzzled. 

“I’ll get it,” I offer, pushing away from the table. 

As I approach the door, the scratching intensifies, sounding distinctly impatient. Curious, I turn the handle and pull the door open. 

To my surprise, Selene slinks into the room, her silver fur gleaming in the dim light. Ice–blue eyes meet mine before she pads past me, walking straight toward the older gnome, where they stare at each other in silence. Probably mind–reading each other or something. 

Elverly gives an exasperated sigh, grabbing for a washcloth and wiping the floor. Muddy paw prints trail behind Selene, leaving the marks of her presence. “Walking into a home, leaving it a mess. I’d never have a dog as a pet. Too much time spent cleaning up after them.” 

“Some people don’t mind the mess. But Selene isn’t a dog. She’s a proper wolf and the Westwood 

Pack Luna now.” 

“Luna or dog, does it change these muddy paws on my floor?” Elverly points at them, her ascerbic words even throwing Selene off guard. The husky raises a paw, leaning her head down to sniff at it, her tail sliding between her legs. 

“Come now, Elverly. She is a guest here. Do treat her with a little more understanding.” -Elverly’s scowl deepens as she turns her gaze from Selene to the Grand Sage. Her wrinkled face 

contorts into what I can only describe as a grimace of politeness as she curtsies. It’s like watching a cat try to swim–unnatural and slightly painful to witness. 

“My sincerest apologies for my unseemly outburst, Grand Sage,” she intones, her voice flat. “It was most unbecoming and shall not happen again.” 

11:35 

312 Lisa: Elverly’s Seasonings 

I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. Elverly’s delivery? Let’s just say she’d never make it as an actress. 

Elverly’s attention snaps to me. Maybe she could hear my internal laughter, which stops abruptly as she stomps over, each step punctuated by a soft thud of her gnomish feet. 

“You,” she barks, jabbing a gnarled finger at my midsection. “Kitchen. Now. We need to put some meat on those bones.” 

A grin spreads across my face. “Didn’t you say I was fat?” 

She snorts, already turning towards the kitchen. “You’re getting fat. You aren’t fat yet.” 

Wait a second. Wasn’t she just complaining about the quality of the food here? “Did you pack your seasonings?” 

She pauses at the kitchen doorway, throwing me a look over her shoulder that clearly questions my intelligence. “Of course I did. I understand what priorities must be had.” 

As she disappears into the kitchen, I can’t help but chuckle. Trust Elverly to consider her spice rack a priority during an escape. But then, a memory flashes through my mind–the chaos of our flight, the urgency, the fear. My smile fades as I realize something. 

“Elverly?” I call out, following her into the kitchen. “Did you… did you pack your seasonings before you woke me up to save my life?” 

She’s already bustling around the small space, pulling out pots and pans with a clatter that seems too loud in the sudden silence that follows my question. For a moment, I think she hasn’t heard me. But then she turns, fixing me with those sharp eyes of hers. 

“And what if I did?” she challenges, one eyebrow raised. “Would you rather I left them behind? Then where would we be? Eating bland, flavorless mush like savages?” 

I stare at her, mouth agape. 

Really? 

“Close your mouth, girl. You’ll catch flies,” Elverly snaps, turning back to the stove. “And make yourself useful. Chop those vegetables over there.” 

Numbly, I move to the counter where a pile of vegetables sits waiting. 

I start chopping, the rhythmic thud of the knife against the cutting board matching the confused beating of my heart. The silence stretches between us, broken only by the sizzle of whatever Elverly’s cooking and the steady chop–chop–chop of my knife.