Chicken.
Tamsin started. It wasn’t exactly a word in her head. More…a feeling, an impression, that her brain was doing its best to translate into words. It was the taste of chicken, succulent and meaty. And the smell of chicken too, although smell hardly described that complex, multilayered cocktail.
Tamsin stared at Cuan. “Are you doing that?”
From his blank look, he wasn’t. “Doing what?”
Angus licked his chops.
Chicken, he demanded again, in her head. Get me chicken. Lots of chicken.
“Uh, Cuan?” Tamsin said slowly. “What was that you were saying about me getting fae magic…?”