Installment 006 [https://squirrel.dogphilosophy.net/Installment006.png]

The dining room was smaller and more intimate than the parlor, but still had plenty of room for them all to gather around the long feastworthy table at its center. Above it, a crystal chandelier hung, with three more of the magical flame-engulfed candles providing light that sparkled along the walls. Individual bench-style chairs were arrayed along both sides of the table, though Gruntle had pushed one aside to squat down directly on the floor at the nearest corner, which still left him looming somewhat over the dishes set out for him to use.

A row of platters holding cheeses, cuts of meat, a loaf of bread, and a pot of some sort of sauce ran lengthwise down the middle of the table, and at the far end, a selection of cups surrounded a cask of wine. Bob, Malagriel, Grakthor, and Melissa had seated themselves on Gruntle's side of the table opposite Al, Bote, and Wikwocket. Al had placed himself across from Melissa, in order to better continue his conversation with her and not, surely, to be as far from the gnoll as possible.

"...and with toothy death staring me in the face, making any sudden movements seemed like a bad idea," Wikwocket was cheerfully explaining, with appropriately dramatic gestures, "so the only thing left to do was to try to communicate, but in the moment I didn't know what to say so I just blurted out, 'Do you have anything to eat around here?'"

There was polite laughter in response from everyone present, except for Bob, who laughed rather more enthusiastically, and Al, who just gave a wry, pained smile. Even Gruntle chuckled, if that's what the series of grunting-huffing noises were.

"Of all the responses I might have anticipated, 'cheese' was not one of them. Gruntle's not the most articulate guy but we had a nice chat, and he said he needed to take me to see the 'the party', and I thought it'd be fun to make a dramatic entrance. Carrying me in like something he'd hunted down was his idea. Oh, Al, could you fix the back of my collar later? It's got some holes in it now." Wikwocket finished.

"He really came up with that himself?" Melissa interjected, smiling slightly and eyes wide in surprise. "I shall have to add a few more observations to my treatise then."

"Our boy's growin' up." Grakthor added, perhaps a little wistfully.

"Well, you are either quite smart, have good instincts, or are just very lucky. Gruntle is amazingly civilized in comparison with a typical gnoll, but he is quite brutal if provoked." Malagriel said.

"I like the sound of 'quite smart', let's assume that!" Wikwocket replied.

"As you prefer. However, our shared meal will be cold if we don't start soon. Bob, would you like to say a prayer over the food?"

"A wonderful idea!" Bob agreed. "Let's see if divinity will smile upon this gathering, shall we?"

Bote watched attentively as Bob placed his right hand on the shepherd's crook he'd leaned against the table next to his seat, and placed his other hand over his heart. He closed his eyes and quietly murmured a long prayer, asking the god of herds and flocks if they would look favorably upon this meeting. The prayer ended abruptly in a moment of silence, and then Bob's eyes popped open and he suddenly reached out to grab a handful of cubed pieces of cheese from a platter, and rolled them onto his plate in front of him like a gambler rolling dice. He stared at them for several seconds, and then his smile grew wider.

"Our gathering is blessed, divinity approves! Let's eat!"

Malagriel's polite but stern facial expression softened, and she smiled. Al noted that she seemed to relax. Had she been worried the gods would disapprove of them eating food?

Wikwocket had no such worries, she was already piling chunks of cheese onto her plate.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

Bote leaned forward to pull a piece of bread off of a nearby loaf. "You ask the gods for approval rather than simply calling for a blessing?" they asked Bob.

"It may not be usual among those of us called so directly to the service of the divine, having been granted divine authority to command certain things, but I think the gods like it when we still take their opinions into consideration before acting."

"You are a wise man. There are many mysteries that the divine may reveal to those who are receptive," Bote concluded.

"Wikwocket, " Malagriel began to ask, "would you..."

"Hey, Gruntle, catch!" Wikwocket called, tossing a piece of cheese at Gruntle's face, threatening Al with a heart-attack. Gruntle caught it with a flick of his head and snap of his jaws.

"Thanks, Wikwocket." he recited, slowly.

"Yes, well, never mind." said Malagriel, "Bote, would you mind passing some bread down to Gruntle?"

"Certainly."

"It's not necessary to throw it," she hastily added, as Bote reached to tear another large piece off of the loaf. They leaned forward, holding it out, and Gruntle's long arm reached across the table to take it. The whole piece was stuffed into Gruntle's mouth and swallowed with little chewing.

"Thanks, Bote.", he recited again. It sounded almost ritualistic to Al. He recognized the pattern as all eyes turned towards him. He watched the gnoll nervously.

"Al," asked Malagriel, "all of the wine is at your end of the table, Would you please pour out a glass for Gruntle?"

"Yes. Yes, of course." Al said. He selected the largest of the cups and poured wine from the cask into it. He held the cup out to his left towards Bote. "Bote, would you pass this on to..."

Malagriel cleared her throat loudly.

"Al," she said, looking him in the eyes. "Could you hand that to Gruntle, please?"

Ah, thought Al. It's a test. They want to make sure we're brave enough adventurers for their warrior to join us. He considered pretending to panic in hope of disqualifying themselves and ending this whole uncomfortable encounter, but Bote and Wikwocket were watching him. He knew they were counting on him not to hurt their reputations. Al had also become curious about a few things and in spite of himself wanted to know more.

"Oh, yes, I understand," he said. He stood from his seat and, concentrating on maintaining even breath and a politely-bored facial expression, he deliberately walked around the end of the table until he was standing right next to Gruntle. From that close, he could even smell the gnoll's strange scent - like mulched grass, blended with hints of "wet dog" and sulfur, but faint enough to not be terribly unpleasant. He held the cup out and forced a smile.

"Cheers, Gruntle." Al said.

Gruntle accepted the cup, and at that moment Al felt a tension in the air that he hadn't previously noticed seemed to fade away. He tried to keep his incredulity from showing as he watched Gruntle clumsily swirl the wine in the cup, then stick his muzzle into it to sniff at it. Finally, Gruntle's tongue lapped, just once, at the wine. He licked at his muzzle a few times as if carefully considering the flavor.

"I like the red kind," he finally said. Then he recited again. "Thanks, Al."

"You're...welcome, Gruntle," Al replied, feeling confused. He stood for a moment longer, then made his way back to his seat.

"Well, that's the ritual portion of the meal completed." Malagriel announced. "Please, eat."

"So, does that mean we passed?" Al asked.

Bob laughed. "We wouldn't have asked you to share food with Gruntle if you hadn't," he chuckled.

"We met your approval before that? Then what was all the food-passing about?"

"That," Melissa explained, "makes you honorary members of Gruntle's clan."

"That's all it takes?" Al asked.

"Kind of a trick." Gruntle answered. "If you share food, feels like you're clan. Outsiders and clan wouldn't share food."

"Wait...you know it's a psychological trick?"

The gnoll gave a short grunt of affirmation.

"And it still works?"

Grunt.

"Does that bother you at all?"

"Nah. Food is good. And bigger clan is stronger clan." Gruntle suddenly turned his head to catch a piece of flying meat that Wikwocket had tossed. He squinted at her as he chewed, then picked up a piece of cheese and tossed it at her face.

Malagriel lifted a hand to shield her eyes from the sight of their antics, and gave a long-suffering sigh. "As long as they don't get it all over the walls and floor..." she muttered.

Al shook his head. "Before today, I was certain that all gnolls, without exception, were inherently creatures of demonic violence." he said to Melissa.

"Oh, they are. Even Gruntle." she replied.

"He's okay though." Grakthor added. "Taught him how to aim it properly."

"You seem pretty fond of him." Al said to Grakthor. "Are you going to be okay with leaving him behind if you join us?"

Grakthor cocked his head to the side quizzically. "I ain't joinin' you."

"But...we passed your tests, right? And you need to join a party?"

"Oh dear." Melissa giggled. "There seems to be a misunderstanding. Grakthor is our senior warrior."

"I'm retired." Grakthor added.

"Then who..."

And then realization dawned. Al looked in horror towards the gnoll exchanging volleys of foodstuff with Wikwocket.

"ABSOLUTELY N..." he said, his utterance interrupted by a hunk of cheese smacking against the side of his head. He turned to see Wikwocket giving him the fiercest, sternest look he'd ever seen on her. As he watched, her face expertly transformed itself into a soft, pleading expression. Her lower lip even trembled slightly.

"We followed him home. Can't we keep him?" she said.