How's the Taste?

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Winter in the North is eternal.

The cold snaps are savage, the snowstorms strike without warning, and no record exists of the frozen ground having ever thawed, not since the dawn of history. On days when the harsh weather whipped up a vicious north wind, outdoor activity became outright impossible. And once night fell, the already-low temperatures plunged even further.

Pile on layer after layer of thick coats, stoke the stove as furiously as you liked, the air indoors stayed cold, and whenever a draft slithered through the gaps in the door, even a heavy blanket couldn't keep the ache out of your toes.

That was why daily life for the people of the North was nothing short of a constant battle for survival.

And yet they never left. The reason was singular: to guard the Wall.

The Grand Ducal House, which kept watch against the incursions ‍‍‌‌⁠⁠‌‍‍‌⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠‌‌‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠of demonic beasts at the very front line, commanded the respect of every northerner, and the fervor of those who wished to stand beside them could not be conquered even by the cold.

Pride. That was the engine that drove northern lives.

In the meantime, the brutal climate had inevitably shaped the North's culinary culture to match. The food on the table was, on the whole, rough and unadorned—ingredients were simply too hard to come by. Fish and meat, eaten raw or roasted, that was the extent of it. There were no such things as recipes. Eating was less about pleasure and more about shoveling fuel into your body to survive another day.

One would never guess it from her appearance, but Ekaterina, too, had grown up on that kind of food.

So it was hardly surprising that the 'dumpling' in her hand looked special to her.

Granted, she was the daughter of a great house, and during her time at the Academy she had tasted her share of fine dishes. What startled her was, first, the dumpling's remarkably plain appearance—and—

'It's hot.'

—the steam curling off it in thick ribbons, as though it had been pulled straight from the stove that very moment. How many times in her life had she eaten food that looked this hot? Up in the North, even freshly heated meals went cold the moment you turned your back.

'Shall I try it?'

Following the shopkeeper's advice—bite straight into the dumpling, and savor the broth inside—Ekaterina cautiously took a bite.

And then.

'!'

Her eyes flew wide ‍‍‌‌⁠⁠‌‍‍‌⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠‌‌‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠open, wider than they had ever been. Anyone who knew her usual temperament would have recoiled in shock at such a violent reaction.

'What is this chewy texture?'

Ceria, beside her, was working through what she called a steamed bun and sighing over how fluffy it was, but the dumpling was an entirely different animal. The thin skin wrapping the filling was springy, yet gave way more softly than expected—and the instant it did, the juices trapped inside burst out with a pop. So that was the broth the shopkeeper had mentioned.

'...It's delicious.'

The seasoning was spot-on. Not a trace of gaminess from the meat, none of the raw sharpness of vegetables. She chewed, and this time worked her teeth through the filling itself: stir-fried meat and vegetables, minced fine and folded together—nutty, faintly sweet, gently salted. None of the flavors were strong, and yet somehow she wanted to keep eating.

'It's addictive.'

She swallowed one bite and, quite naturally, took another. As the warm dumpling slid down her throat, she felt a soft heat spreading all the way to her core. Born with a body that ran markedly colder than other people's, she knew that sensation could not possibly be her imagination.

Ekaterina found the feeling thoroughly pleasant. Live in the North long enough, and you come to understand exactly how precious warmth is.

'...It's remarkable.'

She stopped eating and studied the dumpling's shape with keen interest.

'Such a simple thing, really.'

Meat ‍‍‌‌⁠⁠‌‍‍‌⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠‌‌‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠and vegetables wrapped in a round shell of flour dough—that was all it was. So how could it possibly taste this good? More than anything, it was perfect for cold weather. Ekaterina found herself recalling the cozy warmth of eating fresh-baked bread or hot soup beside the stove on days when the blizzard raged outside. Those happy moments had been so rare she'd nearly forgotten them.

And yet, astonishingly, this plain-looking little food was giving her a similar experience right now.

'It's as if it was made for northerners.'

If she introduced this to the people of her territory, they'd embrace it so enthusiastically they'd likely move to make it their staple food on the spot. She could stake her identity as the Grand Duke's daughter of the North on that certainty.