Some ate. Some didn’t. The difference it made was marked.

With food in their stomachs, Ash and Matteo made good time as they followed after Ettamri, who, on horseback, was still the one that covered the most ground, the most easily. For all the dangers presented in their battle against the giant toad, the fight itself had been over almost immediately, with the few injuries accumulated wiped away by their priest. As they headed northwest through the plains, the thief and the hunter could even spare a bit of time to enjoy the heavy scenery, green grass contrasted to thick clouds. Behind them, Muu, with her muscles atrophied over seven days of unconsciousness and no substantial food to keep her engine going, marched at a slower pace. The pain was gone, but the memory of it remained like the afterimage of a lightning bolt, and the wind that blew over the plain seemed sharper than it used to be, slicing into freshly regenerated flesh. She was still able to keep up, however flagging her stamina was.

As the adventurers travelled in relative silence, however, the rising winds made it clear that the weather was not to last. The first drops of rain came unassumingly, bouncing off the tip of Gwyn’s mask, but from there, the deluge began, sheets of rain pouring from the heavens, followed by the unpleasant chill of damp clothing and mud, as the plains turned marshy from precipitation.

Really, it was a question, ultimately, of what they, no, of what Ettamri valued. Arriving at their destination faster, or keeping dry? At least, in such weather, starting a fire to dry off was going to be fairly unlikely.