Now that the wave of dread was subsiding, Qebhet was aware of the warmth of the fresh-cooked pita clasped between her hands, the rich earthy scent of cumin and paprika mingling with the smell of roasted meat. Of course Genesis was right; hadn't she thought the same thing herself? And she'd had so little to eat today.
Obediently, Qebhet took a bite of the pita, chewing in silence. It was good, and if she couldn't altogether savour the taste... at least it was warmth in her stomach.
After the third bite, she chanced another tentative look at Genesis. "What's your son's name? If, if it's not prying."