If Castel did not welcome them, then they would leave. Grisha was already a warrior; he was not a weak child. The Resistance Army would never give up resisting.
Little hands opened the paper box, and Grisha's eyes suddenly widened.
Inside was a box of yellow strips, along with diamond-shaped pieces. Grisha did not know what they were, but his nose gave him the answer.
"It smells so good."
Grisha pinched out a strip with his fingertips and inspected it closely before his eyes. It was golden yellow, its edges and tip slightly charred. The scent of fried food mixed with oil instantly filled his nostrils, and Grisha swallowed.
He hesitantly glanced at the Expeditionary Force in front of him. No one was paying attention to this side. Gritting his teeth, he stuffed the strip into his mouth and slowly chewed.
A moment later, his hands began to tremble, and two streams of tears rolled down his face.
The fragrant, slightly charred french fries were crispy on the outside, but when bitten open, they contained soft mashed potatoes. The aroma of frying rushed straight from his mouth to his mind.
The Northern Territory produced no oil, and Grisha's family were merely poor hunters. Many people went their entire lives without ever eating anything fried.
It was a delicacy that had never even appeared in his dreams.
Grisha turned the little box over. A line of exaggerated lettering was printed on it, along with a smiling girl's face.
Grisha could not read, but he firmly committed that girl's appearance to memory.
"Grisha? What's wrong? Did someone outside bully you? Don't be afraid, Uncle Wood will beat them up for you!"
"That's right, Grisha. Why are you crying? Boys aren't supposed to cry!"
Grisha hurriedly wiped his eyes, only then realizing that