Tamie

Tamie stirred the bubbling pot, the salmon on their head bobbing gently as they hummed. The air in The Underworld always tasted of ash and regret, but in Tamie's small corner of the marshlands, it smelled of river herbs and simmering fish stock. They weren't training to be a warrior or a mage; their master, a soul-weary survivor, was teaching them the far harder art of endurance. The daily lesson was simple: find one good thing and share it. The soup was their answer. As other chimps gathered, drawn from the shadows by the unfamiliar scent of home, Tamie’s wrinkled mouth broke into a gleeful grin. For a few minutes, under a sky of perpetual twilight, there was no cult, no undead, just warmth.