The broth in the pot bubbled away, its rich aroma mingling with the fragrance of herbs and spreading throughout the cave.
That aroma, both overpowering and gentle, found its way into everyone's nostrils.
The werewolves who had been unable to eat because of their painful injuries swallowed involuntarily, feeling a hunger they had not known in a long time.
Forty minutes later, Douglas lifted the lid.
He tossed the blanched young dandelion leaves and torn chunks of hard bread into the pot.
"The bread will absorb the residual negative energy in the broth. Tearing it apart symbolizes breaking the shackles of the curse marks. And the dandelion's final touch of mellow sweetness will balance the other herbs' pungent intensity, softening the flavor."
He let it simmer for another fifteen minutes.
By the time he finally turned off the heat and sprinkled on the grated Parmesan, watching the snow-white cheese slowly melt in the residual warmth and stretch into golden strands, not a single groan could be heard in the cave.
Everyone's eyes were fixed on that pot.
What bubbled inside no longer seemed to be ordinary food.
It was a pot of flowing, warm, golden hope.
Douglas stirred it with a large wooden ladle and scooped up a ladleful.
The thick broth was an enticing amber, the chicken stewed until fall-apart tender and the mushrooms plump. The red of tomatoes, the green of dandelion leaves, and the white of cheese dotted the mixture, creating a picture that would make any hungry person drool.
"It's ready."
Douglas handed the ladle to Marco, the corners of his mouth lifting.
"Sometimes, healing begins in the kitchen, not the pharmacy."
Marco took the enormous wooden ladle. The warmth of its handle seeped into his palm, as though it still carried the warmth of Douglas's