Gemotions

A tremor ran through David’s hands as he held the crumpled menu. “The Golden Goblin’s Gruel.” He read the words aloud, a shaky sound escaping his lips. He’d meticulously crafted this stew, a rich, savory blend passed down through generations of his family. Seeing it on the menu, attributed to a rival chef, was a shock. But then, a smile crept across his face.

He remembered the early years. The failures, the struggles. The countless hours he’d spent perfecting the recipe. The recipe, the *flavour*, that was his. A surge of warmth spread through him, chasing away the initial sting of surprise. He straightened, feeling taller, stronger.

He took a deep breath, the air filling his lungs with a sudden sense of energy. He decided he was going to take a walk. A brisk, purposeful walk. He walked down the lane, whistling, the rhythm of the tune echoing the newfound spring in his step. The sun seemed brighter, the birds sang louder. This was, he realized, a magnificent sensation.