Bryson said, when an hour had passed with no sign of Lars. “I’m starving. You?” “No, thanks. I had a sandwich back at the Den, and my stomach is in knots from the thought of meeting Maggie.” “Understandable.” Bryson went to the kitchen and pulled down a deep iron skillet hanging from a peg over the sink. She poured some oil into it and set it on the woodstove. “Think you’ll change your mind, though, when you get a whiff of this. Nothing like moose stew to warm you up on a chilly night.” “Moose?” Bryson knelt by a trapdoor in a corner of the cabin and pulled out a square plastic food container. Bits of hay were stuck to it. “Made a batch the other night that’ll warm up quick. Moose tastes kinda like beef, only more tender, and it’s better for you than any steak you’d buy. Not much fat. No additives.” “If you say so. But I still think I’ll pass.” “Suit yourself. Don’t know what you’re missing.” Bryson dumped the contents of the container into the skillet and stirred it with a big wooden spoon.
