Just the weather, Qebhet thought again. "It's green tea, with honey and mint." As she spoke, she led the way through the kitchen to the living room. A waft of cool air hit them as they entered, carrying on it the faintest scent of cassia and wild orange from a reed diffuser in the far corner. A wiry grey cat had found a strategic perch on the back of the the couch, where best to catch the breeze from the air conditioner. It raised a sleepy head and blinked its over-large green eyes once at Much.
"I saw the Friar put out a call for help. Will you let him know he can call me if they run short of anything? Oh—" she caught herself, feeling immediately foolish. "I'm sorry, I'm not thinking! Of course I can let him know myself. But please, sit." The tea jug was waiting ready on the coffee table, alongside a bowl a grapes, crisp and cold from the fridge. Qebhet poured a glass for each of them before sitting, waving for Much to help himself.