Somehow it did not surprise her that Barry could eat like Derek. He was not a werewolf, she didn't think, though obviously there was something special to him to have been taken with the others of the city. But even so, like called to like, even in the simplest of ways.

She took her seat and took up her fork, but waited until Derek had voiced his approval. Then she ate herself, but with smaller, slower bites.

"English does not have a good word for it," she said, her voice petering out in a dry huff of a laugh. "I go on. Not good or bad. How are you?"