"Alright, I could eat," Solomon replied. He waddled over to the sack, withdrew a few pieces of bread, and handed one to Rose. "Do you want some?" he asked.
She looked at him, then at his offering. "Aw, thanks." Rose plucked it from his hand and nibbled on it. Considering the bread endured dust, heat, and blunt force, it wasn't bad, if a bit stale.

The two chewed in silence as they watched the enemy scouts the way nobles watched theater. Rose whispered live commentary on their blunders and exploits, cackling whenever they drew weapons at nothing, stumbled into traps, or bickered over each other's incompetence, and staring with rapt attention when they expressed frustration or gathered for meetings. Rose even named one of the scouts: Bob the Clumsy, a scout who always dove head-first into whatever trap, real or imaginary, was nearby.

"Look, look, Bob's going into the barn now. I'm betting he'll impale himself on the fried straw in there. Two cents says he'll complain to HR." Rose tore off another bite as she watched the scout enter the barn. No activity for a few minutes. Then he came out again nursing his arm, and rushed over to his commander to display it as if he'd won a prize. Rose slapped Solomon on the arm. "What'd I tell you? Nailed it."

She strained to see what his partner was doing at the general store ruins. "Can you make out what that guy's doing over by the general store? You might be able to see him better than I can."