After a few minutes of calming down, Isabella begrudgingly used the last bit of water from one of her hollowed-out gourds to wash the fruits.
Was it a waste? Yes.
Did she care? No.
She had earned this. After all, she had just survived a massive, red death noodle.
She ate to her fill, letting the sweetness melt her nerves away. Each bite chased away the lingering panic, replacing it with satisfaction.
When her stomach was full and happy, she finally leaned back, picking at her options.
She had to complete a task. The question was—which one?
She scrolled through the mental list, ignoring anything that sounded too physically exhausting.
— "Make a primitive mirror" → Absolutely not.
— "Make Soap" → Ugh. Work.
— "Make clay pots" → Hmm...
That one sounded doable. But would she have enough time? The sun was just starting to set, dipping low on the horizon.
Would she even be able to finish one pot today?
