The Rabbit Demon tilted its head askew, its small brain seemingly a bit overloaded today.
Not that it was impossible to understand why—look, his director was sitting there, sweating buckets over stir-fried rice noodles with shredded meat and chili flakes.
And there was young Mr. Durin from the Western Lands, a Little Candle Dragon, and that absurdly strong fellow clansmate all eating the exact same dish.
"You all aren't afraid of spice, are you?" The Rabbit Demon thought to itself. To him, the worst thing under the heavens was chili; it would give him stomach pains every single time.
He mulled this over until the fellow clansmate next to Durin glanced his way: "Not eating?"
"Already had some at home this morning, still full now." The Rabbit Demon's stomach was small—a minor flaw of their kind. Two meals a day, and they were good; force a third, and his stomach would overstretch at once.
