"Want some?"

Yevdokiya holds out the skewer of dripping meat to Athessa first, then Bastien, her eyebrows raised in friendly inquiry. Sauce and meat grease are on her fingers, smeared around her mouth. If Laura's nose were here, it would pick up the smell of the bath oil under all the sweat and meat and fur and leather that Doki is wearing or covered with. If the wind blows just right, there might be a hint of it for anyone to smell, confused with everything else Doki smells of. She's been eating as they walk along, but has suddenly remembered her manners.

The sun is baking Kirkwall today. The street smells. They have made it to the market by now, at least, where the merchants all sit in the shade of their stalls and beneath the awnings of their shops, fanning themselves. It is a fine day to be rescuing a cello.

Doki raises her eyebrows a little higher. The skewer wavers between her companions like the point of a wonky compass. Yes? No? "It's okay. Bill will not mind. He likes food too."

There's a wad of meat stored in her cheek. It makes her look kind of cute, like a squirrel that might have rabies.