No mineral created that finely grained surface. Delicate ridges marked where a ligament had once attached, where the force of muscles had once flexed and strained. The cup had to be bone. Heat from the tea inside lent a living warmth. John took a quick drink of the greenish tea, expecting the bite of daru’sira. Instead a weak, floral fragrance hung in his mouth. There was almost no taste, just a light scent after he swallowed. A year ago he wouldn’t have tasted anything at all, but he had somewhat adapted to the faint flavors in this world. He supposed that when he got back home everything would be too strong for a while. He tried to imagine what his favorite salsa would taste like now. For a moment, he drifted back to sharp searing tangs of lime and lemon suffusing earthy-sweet cherry tomatoes, fresh cilantro clinging to chopped red onion, and slivers of jalapeno pepper all bursting up like fireworks between the soothing, cool bites of cucumber.
