I cry a lot, but I am so productive

It was funny how though so much time had passed, he was the same creature he always was. Just stretched out into the shape of an adult. Fable would have liked to think she'd changed quite a bit since they'd last seen each other - she was older, yes, but braver. Sharper. No shame or insecurity limned her. She no longer presented dishes and waited with big, round eyes, begging for approval. She had cooked for kings! And kings had died eating her food.

Which, of course, led her to this murky cave, slumped over on the side of some rusty tracks while Oki's warm body lent some much needed comfort. How did she begin to explain how she'd wound up here? Fable settled by just relaxing into his banter, giving it back the same as he gave. "Oh, yes, we could all only be so lucky to have an Oki greet us with a cheeky smile before our souls are so rudely snatched from our bodies. Or whatever it is in there that makes us tick, makes our heart beat and our brains have wonderful ideas..." Being on the run for your life had a way of making you wax poetic, she supposed. Fable shrugged off the worn leather satchel she'd brought along on her grand escape and nosed through it. There were only scraps left now and a small container of salt that, by some miracle, hadn't shattered. She wouldn't debase herself by licking the crumbs out of the bottom of the bag, no matter how badly she wanted to. "You wouldn't happen to know where a girl could get a decent lunch around here, do you?"