The smell... It was enough to make Jeron's mouth water, to pull his attention away by the far less captivating human just to watch Chamera cook. Certainly, he had cooked meat and herbs together before, but there was always something about someone else cooking the food that made the scent all the more enticing. When was the last time he had a meal cooked for him? By his mother, while he was still a child, in the rare time that she wasn't too drunk to cook. Otherwise, he had learned to prepare his own meals. 

Jeron forced himself to look away, realizing that he had halfway expected Chamera to share her meal. How foolish. He could not allow himself to grow dependent on her beyond their agreement. So he resumed his search for a far less appetizing meal, though the act of pushing through weeds and peering into the shadows of the grasses seemed more an arduous task despite him knowing every herb by heart and how to look for them. Damn that smell. Damn that food. Damn Chamera.

He nearly jumped when she spoke, not because she had said something but because of [i]what[/i] she had said. He glanced over his shoulder, his gaze pinned to the food. He opened his mouth to refuse, reminding himself that he must not be dependent on...

She offered. Why not?

Jeron stepped back into the light of the campfire and accepted the little pot of food...and the fork. He frowned as he stared at the utensil. He hadn't used one since his mother died and he had abandoned the pathetic hut he had called home, a hut that had burned to ashes along with his mother. He felt tempted to drop the fork, knowing that eating with his hands was more efficient; he had been doing it for years. However, he knew enough about humans and the like to know that eating without a utensil was considered wrong and uncivilized, and he didn't want to give Chamera any more reason to think him a filthy, savage Drow than she already did. So he sat down to his meal, staring at the contents in concentration, and ate with the fork.

Jeron shoveled the food in his mouth. By his standards, he was eating slowly, far more so than he would have with his hands. The meal wasn't gourmet by any means--not that he would know what a gourmet meal tasted like--but Jeron still found it tasty. He surprised himself by releasing a little groan of delight upon the first bite of food; to him, it was the most delicious thing he had ever tasted. He made sure to not make any more noises as he ate, but his eating did slow, Jeron finding himself enjoying the food instead of eating it just for the sake of filling his belly like some animal. When was the last time he had enjoyed a meal? With Maura, when she had brought him little sandwiches to sample or fruit to try, whatever a little girl could stow away from her home without her family noticing.

Tears welled in Jeron's eyes. He turned away with alarm as he continued to eat, his back to Chamera, and hastily wiped away the tears with the back of a hand. It had been years since he had cried, so he couldn't understand what had brought up such emotion now. He began to understand why humans found the act of eating such an emotional experience.