Lava — stolen from Wallace’s Forge, of course — squelched in Arwin’s mouth as he chewed.

He rested against his anvil as he worked to prepare the molten stone to work with.

Magical energy prickled at the inside of his mouth.

If he pretended hard enough, it almost felt like spices.

If he’d never tasted any of Lillia’s cooking and had such high standards to compare against, he might have been able to believe it.