Will bustles in and places a tray with a steaming ceramic bowl on the bedside table.
“What’s that?” Hannibal wheezes.
“You must be more congested than you’re letting on.”
“I’m sure it smells delicious. Especially given the fracas coming from the kitchen.”
“Chicken soup. My dad made it for me when I was sick. Special family recipe, medicinal herbs and spices. Doubt science would validate, but it always made me feel better.”
Will helps Hannibal sit up and places the tray on his lap. Hannibal sips gently from the soup spoon.
“You made me silkie chicken in a broth.”