The war was over. They could begin to make some of the food they used to eat. Foods many angaran didn’t get to even try one in their entire life. First, though, it was time to make more Milky Way food and attempt to adjust it to an angaran palette. A far more difficult task than some expected it to be. The shock of the latest experiment on his tongue resulted in a regretfully timed inhale. Now he was coughing, crumbs lodged in the wrong pipe. It stung, and he gasped in the small moments that he wasn’t coughing and gagging.
He snatched up a glass next to him. Another milky way food. He needed something to ease his suffering and try to dislodge the crumbs that were uncomfortably placed in the very back of his mouth after it at least successfully escaped his airways.
"Sun above..." he gasped, his voice rasped.









