Said dog stalks along beside him, stands with her nose by the table curiously until Lancelot gently chides her into sitting.

"Manners, Lily," he says, and she shoots him a concerned look as she sits. "Thank you, Faolan. It's perfect, I promise."

He stirs it slowly to help it come to a temperature where he wont burn his tongue, carefully tests a bit.

"There's other flavours if you want some yourself. Chicken, minestrone, beef..."