In his goings-about, Aksho hadn't registered that Lynn had even asked him for his name until after he had finished salting the meat and storing it for later. The Druidess tossed another log onto the fire as Aksho began cutting pieces of venison steak; interestingly enough, the massive steaks were of equal size. He couldn't have possibly expected such a (comparatively) small person to eat the same amount he did.
"xqʃɵ," he rumbled as he cut. Several of the sounds he made most likely were going to take some doing to replicate, "Me... Aksho."
With the help of a long, flat stone most likely found in his traveled, this "Hk-sh-uh" had successfully set up a makeshift stovetop next to the fire. Cooking on a heated stone was definitely one of the more primitive ways to cook, but it was effective. Aksho brushed the ashes and refuse off the stone before pouring some water over it. He was hardy, and it didn't seem like he was too concerned with 'clean dishes,' as revolting as that may be to a more 'civilized' person.
"Can I do something to help you? You've been more than kind to me already," crooned the Bardess, "At least let me help you with the rest of the preparation? I'm from the north. While I haven't prepared elk meat personally, I've watched my father do it plenty of times."
Aksho sniffed, nostrils flaring. His hands slowed as those giant, calloused hands moved the stone to be ever-so-slightly in the fire. His gaze drifted towards Aislynn's hands. They were so much smaller than his own; he could hold the entirety of her head in his grip and still have space to spare, and those slender, delicate fingers certainly lacked the natural armor of his own hardened, leathery callouses... The beast shook his head in the negative with a sharp exhale. Perhaps there was something she could help with later, if she had decided to stay in his camp, but for now all the hard work had been done. He wasn't going to put her to work on an empty stomach either, and that was a fact.
How surprising that a creature like Aksho would know anything about herbs or spices. He fetched a cloth bag from somewhere and drew from it bulbs of dried wild-growing garlic and onions. With those massive, calloused hands the Beastman crushed them and ground them into a seasoning with a stone bowl he had on-hand. Elk meat had a stronger and arguably sweeter taste than beef, but a little bit of seasoning never hurt. Aksho remembered his days as herdlord, where the hunters would bring back carcasses of the Feywild's giant boars. Cooking amongst the herd was a group effort, and a time of celebration besides... They would remove the entrails of the boars and dig giant pits. They would use fire and hot stones and cover the cooking boars with vegetation and watch over the cooking process in shifts, taking the time to exchange stories or tales of their travels. It made the Beastman miss home, and such a thing was apparent in his eyes. The longing, the nostalgia... He flared his nostrils and flicked his ears back and forth, expression stoic as he seasoned the elk steaks and put them on the now-hot stone to cook. But even with such a hardened expression, it was clear in his eyes that his mind was somewhere else.
It didn't take much time to cook the elk steaks. Aksho preferred his own barely cooked at all, but for the sake of courtesy he'd kept Aislynn's cooking until asked to remove it. Those chunks of meat were twice Aislynn's own fist in size... But atop the smell of cooked elk was a faint hint of garlic and woodsmoke, and those hints, while subtle in nature, did wonders to bring out the elk's taste. Aksho knew- thanks to the instruction of Taernichanthach- that most other folk couldn't simply hold a freshly-cooked anything with their bare hands, let alone eat it... So in an attempt to try and accommodate his guest, the Beastman put the massive steak on a flat, unlaminated wooden plate before awkwardly handing it over to Aislynn. It would have been cute if Aksho wasn't a giant, predatory creature from the oldest parts of the Faewilds.
