Road food fills an important job, as important as any of them. It must be rich, dense with nutrients. Refreshing to sip or to nibble. It must be able to stand alone, but greater still is the one than can blend with what’s foraged. All this, and everyone wishes it were yummy too. It’s a tough life, being road food. But Dolce is here to lend it a hand.

He spends a precious bit of fuel to haul an empty, newly-cleaned storage crate down the mountain, and climbs back up with a crateful of the freshest, sweetest spring water. Hold a hand over it, and feel the air grow still; it flows naturally cool from beneath the mountain. From this great trove he fills a trusty kettle. From the supplies aboard his plover, he fetches a little barrel, complete with spigot. Thus so he makes the rounds, stopping beside each plover, where groups gather in the shade to rest from their work, and enjoy a quick meal. Cups out, now, everyone. And hold them steady! First comes a thick syrup from the barrel, honey and spices and good things blended together. Then, fresh, cold water to fill. Mix thoroughly, wait for everyone to get acquainted, and enjoy! A spiced, sweet tea, of sorts, to put life in the body and a smile on your face.

At each group, he waits. There is time to wait. This, too, is road food. Moments when breath can be spent on conversation, and laughter, and company. In the time it takes for his brew to be properly mixed, there is time to reminisce, to tell of sights seen, to bleat contentedly as hands play through his curly wool. No one will go hungry. Not on his watch. No one will be forgotten. 

It is here, amid laughter and good company, that the first are lost.

He keeps the memory of his first flight with the Starsong. His first meal away from the Manor. Joining them, officially. That fateful day when he transferred ships, and he first saw the Lady practicing the forms. These, he could never forget. The fifth mission. The seventy-first day off-planet. The in-between times, where the hard work of skill, habit, and growth was truly done. The steady climbs between peaks. These are the first to drift beneath the Lethe’s waters. Dissolved into a brew that carried the flavor of the experience, but whose ingredients he’d forgotten, and whose recipe he could not reproduce.