Strudel for a Dryad (2)

It was only natural, when you thought about it.

Anyone living among other people was bound to be shaped by their surroundings. That influence only grew with time; it never shrank.

So Flora being influenced by Alicia was as inevitable as a dwarf drinking alcohol. Especially since, until recently, Flora’s circle of relationships had been painfully small.

Her guardian, Corvus.

And her senior in life (?), Alicia.

The one silver lining for everyone involved was that Corvus’s influence ran just as deep. Thanks to that, Flora could flaunt a free spirit every bit as lively as Alicia’s—but only within the bounds of the greenhouse.

Of course, half the reason she stayed put was sheer terror of the cold outside, but still.

Thus Flora was rapidly Alicia-fying under Alicia’s enthusiastic tutelage, and while she wasn’t quite on Alicia’s level yet, she had developed a healthy obsession with food.

"Snacks… there aren’t any. But the smell is… that way?"

"Porororong~?"

Alicia and Flora came skidding in and dropped into their seats, scanning the empty table before whipping their heads toward the direction of the aroma.

"My lady, please wait just a little longer."

"Mmmnn. The smell…"

"Pororororong…"

The scent thickening from the oven was enough to make Alicia’s head spin, but she settled quietly at the table to wait.

Ordinarily she would have been pestering Corvus or Karem or anyone within earshot to hurry up and feed her. But she was no longer alone.

Flora was here.

Big sisters and big brothers were supposed to set an example for the younger ones.

Unlike that rude little brat Robin, Alicia was going to be an excellent older sister.

So she resolved to wait with dignity.

"Porororong—"

"Flora. Nagging won’t make the cookies come out any faster. We have to wait patiently."

Karem’s lips twitched at the sight of her sitting there with such a solemn, responsible face, but he managed to hold it in. Catherine tilted her head at him.

"Something you want to say?"

"Should I mention the… thing at the corner of Lady Alicia’s mouth?"

Karem turned his head and whispered. Only then did Catherine spot the glistening trail of drool at Alicia’s lip and open her mouth to speak—only for Mary, who had been helping Corvus set the table, to stride over with ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠brisk purpose.

"Lady Alicia, excuse me for a moment."

"Hm? Ma—mmphmph?"

Mary plucked up a napkin and thoroughly wiped Alicia’s mouth.

"No need to say anything now."

"Indeed."

"By the way, you called it strudel. Is that another dish from your memories?"

Catherine asked with perfect nonchalance.

"Yes. This place and that place have their similarities, so there might already be something like it here. Or not."

"Hmm. It almost sounds like a variation on Wurstbrötchen."

"Wurstbrötchen?"

He had no idea what a brötchen was, but Wurst was German for sausage.

…Germany? Meaning Eisenwald?

"Yes. A traditional Eisenwald dish. Seasoned minced pork wrapped in an unsweetened pastry and baked—meat bread, essentially."

"…Hmm?"

"What? That look. Is there something similar?"

"Well… if I had to say whether there is or isn’t…"

Judging purely by the description, it was indistinguishable from the one thing those sausage-loving islanders actually managed to make with any confidence: the beloved sausage roll.

No—it was a sausage roll.

"The ingredients themselves are nothing special, so I’ll make it for you next time."

"It’s ready!"

At those words, Flora’s and Alicia’s gazes locked onto the baking tray Corvus was carefully lifting with the tips of his talons.

"So, young master Karem. Could you show us how one is supposed to cut this strudel of yours?"

"There’s nothing particularly special about it."

Since they wanted a demonstration, Karem saw no reason to refuse. He stood, took the bread knife Mary handed him, and approached the tray under the passionate stares of one oversized child and one regular-sized child.

He sliced.

Crssshhh—

Flora’s eyes danced as pastry flakes scattered under the sawing motion of the knife. Caught in the cool spring breeze of Corvus’s nest area, the golden shards twirled through the air like flower petals before drifting down.

Without hesitation Karem made a second cut, then slid the knife beneath a piece of strudel and lifted it free.

The sweet scent of yellow apple and white pear, glazed in butter-soaked caramel, rose to meet them.

Gulp.

It wasn’t a smell Flora had never encountered. Alicia had brought snacks before and told her to eat them too. She had smelled something like this then.

But this was far richer, far more mouthwatering. Fresh from the oven, the perfume of butter, sugar, and roasted fruit was overwhelming for a dryad whose previous snacks had been limited to whatever Alicia smuggled in or Corvus prepared.

"That deep brown even with the butter brushed on… sugar?"

"Yep. To make it look more appetizing. I was worried it might burn, but it came out nicely."

A plate bearing a slice of strudel was set in front of Flora.

"Pororororong…"

Fruit was something deeply familiar to Flora—both as a crop and as a snack. The greenhouse was full of fruit trees, and if she asked, a tree would cheerfully drop a blossom and instantly form a single fruit for her.

Of course, fruit grown that way tasted terrible.

So she mostly ate from the storerooms. Those fruits were so juicy that a single bite sprayed nectar everywhere, and they were sweet—but the thing filling Flora’s glazed eyes now carried a far denser, more concentrated fragrance.

"Excuse me for a moment."

Mary, for some reason feeling oddly familiar, suddenly cut in. Flora blinked in confusion, but Mary paid no mind and began tapping a sieve over the strudel slice.

"Sugar powder? When ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠did you prepare that?"

"I made it before I went to fetch the supplies from the warehouse."

It was snow.

Every time Mary lightly tapped the sieve, pure white flakes drifted down and settled on the strudel. The sight Flora had only ever seen beyond the greenhouse walls finally broke her remaining restraint.

"Flora. You know how to hold a fork and knife, right?"

"Porong!"

While Mary drizzled butter-caramel sauce around the strudel, Flora proudly picked up the utensils on either side of her plate exactly as etiquette demanded.

"Oh? For someone who’s never left the greenhouse, your table manners look surprisingly proper."

"Heh-heh. Alicia taught Flora very carefully."

Flora carefully cut into the strudel.

Crunch—!

Despite the crisp surface, the juices from the cooked fruit had softened the bottom so thoroughly that the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠knife sank through with no resistance at all.

Flora felt the same wonder she had when she first tasted the snacks Alicia brought.

No—greater.

Even Alicia, who could vanish from Winterhome if she put her mind to it, found it difficult to sneak around carrying anything. Cookies made it exponentially harder. So the treats she managed to bring Flora were inevitably small cookies, rather firm pies, and pastries that had already gone cold.

The strudel in front of her was cooling, yes, but it was still warm.

Gulp.

Flora could wait no longer. She stuffed a piece into her mouth.

It tasted exactly as it looked.

The powdered sugar snow that touched the roof of her mouth melted instantly, coating the entire pastry. Even wrapped in that sweet essence, the layers remained shatteringly crisp, dissolving into soft fragments that left behind pure butter richness.

From beneath rose the dense perfume of sugar and fruit—apple and pear offering two textures at once: as crisp as apple, softer than pear, honey-sweet and fragrant, swirling together with the deep butter and caramel sauce.

"Porororong—"

Just as she was adjusting to the pastry and fruit, Flora noticed another sweetness—different from the fruit’s, denser and more concentrated than ordinary sugar, lingering long after she had finished the bite.

Sweetness that stayed too long turned cloying.

Flora had no intention of sitting still and feeling it.

Haah.

The moment the slightest stickiness began to build on her tongue, she forked up another generous piece and shoved it into her mouth.

"……!!!!!!"

Unable to contain her joy any longer, Flora’s shoulders bounced. Leaves swirled from her hair as if dancing.

Of course Alicia, ever the stickler for manners, immediately pointed out—

"It’s so goooood….!"

—nothing of the sort.

She was far too busy savoring her own strudel.

One huge bite that preserved the strudel’s shape.

One bite of only the sugar-softened apple and pear.

A piece of pure pastry dipped in the melted sugar-and-fruit essence mixed into the butter-caramel sauce.

"Mm, Karem."

She paused mid-bite.

"Yes?"

"What was this pastry called again?"

"Strudel. Is there some problem—"

"No, nothing like that. It’s just… eating it like this, a thought occurs to me."

Alicia wore a faintly puzzled expression.

"It doesn’t seem all that different from pie."

"Oh."

Karem, who was tasting strudel for the first time in this life, stopped his utensils. She had struck a nerve.

Come to think of it, what is the difference between pie and strudel?

Honestly, the same thought had crossed his mind before, but he had never dug into it. Fortunately a defense rose quickly.

"There are all sorts of pies, aren’t there? Plain pie, pasty, pastry. Strictly speaking this would fall under pasty, wouldn’t it? Pie is a rather vague category to begin with."

"Hmm? Is that so? I want another piece."

Mercifully Alicia seemed satisfied with the answer he had scraped together and returned her full attention to the strudel.

Karem let out a quiet sigh of relief and glanced sideways.

Thankfully Flora also looked thoroughly pleased as she demolished the new piece Corvus offered her.

"So… as repayment for saving my life last time, it’s a bit modest. Does it please you?"

"Porororong?"

"Mm… I can’t understand. Lady Alicia, a little help…?"

"She’s saying it’s not modest at all."

Glad she was happy, but still far too small a gift to erase a life debt.

"Still, I’m relieved that the strudel Gordon helped make with his own hands has found favor."

Bang—! Clatter—!?

Flora slammed the table in shock. Every eye turned to her, but she had no room to care. She warbled with pure delight.

"Porororong~♬♪♩!!!"

"That’s right. That fellow and I go back a ways. If he saved your life, a bit of cooking is nothing."

A handmade token gifted to the one you love. Wasn’t that a proposal? Flora was certain. Alicia’s fairy-tale books had said something similar.

"Pororororong~♬"

"No, wait. Good grief, I’ve never had a woman come at me this openly and sincerely before!"

"Pororong~♬?"

"Well, if it’s like or dislike, it’s the like side. Wait—you understood that just now?"

"Porong!"

In no time Flora had dragged her chair over and latched onto Gordon’s arm like a dwarf who had discovered silk, thrusting a forkful of strudel at him and launching into an animated argument.

"Well, either way, kid. Your repayment was a success. Mm."

Catherine paused mid-sentence, accepted the strudel Mary offered, tasted it thoughtfully, then swallowed.

"It was."

"Anyone can see she’s completely smitten with Gordon. A dessert he helped make himself is a pretty big gift."

"But most of the work was you and Mary, wasn’t it?"

"Even if Mary made the pastry, who do you think sliced all those apples and pears?"

Karem was confident with a knife, but Gordon’s skill had reached a realm that even a kitchen knife could not hope to match.

"I could have sliced them just as well."

"Please don’t start competing over something like that."

"Something like that?! Knife work is the foundation of all cooking!"

"Be honest. Could you keep up with Gordon’s knife work? Frankly even Master Jigmeser couldn’t match that."

"Guh."

Karem silenced Mary’s competitive streak with pure facts. Meanwhile Gordon had apparently given up pretending otherwise and was accepting the strudel Flora kept feeding him.

Hmm, hand-feeding, is it. Karem turned ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠his gaze toward Mary’s fork as she fed strudel to Catherine.

"Hm? Kid. What."

"Nothing. Nothing at all."

Judging by the razor-sharp wariness that was Mary’s specialty currently boring into him, she had read his mind. Damn it. In that case he would just have to wait for an opening.