"It smells really good in here," he said, relishing in the smell of stew. "Beef stew?" he asked, peering over Hestia's shoulder once he was in the kitchen with her. "Brilliant. That's the way to my heart."
Leaning against the counter, Charlie watched Hestia. He could have at least retrieved bowls and spoons, but thought that trivial and planned to, at the very least, clean up afterwards. "I have absolutely no idea. Dragons live a very long time, but that seems to be the case when they're out in the wild taking care of themselves or if we're lucky while they're in captivity. Gobaith—that's her name, it's Welsh for 'hope'—is just one of the few cases of an animal who has had a bit of bad luck wth her health. She's also been incredibly lucky and we're trying everything we can."
Charlie frowned a bit at the thought of the dragon, but the smell of the stew caught his attention. "She'll be all right. She's been through worse," he said, unable to help himself as he hunted down a spoon, then dove into the pot, retrieving a chunk of potato. "Hot!" he mumbled, his mouth full. "But," he said, after chewing and swallowing, "incredible. Almost as good as my mum's," he said with a wink.