"I saw that!" Isabella gasped, slapping Ophelia’s arm lightly. "I told him it was bark, not beast meat!"
The two leaned in even closer now, their foreheads nearly touching as they huddled over the bubbling soap mix like conspirators.
"We should do something," Ophelia whispered, eyes sparkling with pure mischief. "Matchmake."
"Tempting," Isabella murmured, voice low and dangerous. "But if we meddle too much, he might throw a gourd at us."
"He nearly did earlier!"
"That one was an accident."
"No, it wasn’t!"
They both broke into muffled giggles, crouched behind the mixing bowl like children caught plotting.
"But..." Ophelia sobered slightly, her finger tapping her chin. "We still don’t know where Shelia is." Her bottom lip puffed into a soft pout.
Isabella’s grin slowly faded, her expression shifting. "Don’t worry," she said firmly, eyes drifting toward the flickering shadows cast by the hearth. "We’ll find her... I promise."
And then, her gaze slid toward Luca—his brows furrowed, his carving knife hacking into another gourd like it had insulted his ancestors.
She tilted her head slightly, watching him.
"Luca, come over here and help," Isabella called out, her voice calm but firm as she carefully lifted the small clay vessel filled with the newly mixed liquid soap.
A warm steam curled up from the mixture. The scent hit her nose first—floral, faintly sweet, with a wisp of something bright and airy that clung to the back of her throat. Skydew Lotus, Molten Ash, and just a single drop of Sylph Mist—divine. The color shimmered faintly under the firelight, like pale gold with hints of silver.
Her chest swelled with pride as she stirred gently, fingers steady on the carved wooden stick. This was it. This was hers. And she hadn’t even needed to ration the ingredients—thanks to her lucky gathering trip and Bubu’s chirpy reminder that "a little goes a long way." For once, she believed her.
The thought that she was about to supply soap to an entire village—maybe more—made her heart do a happy little flip. No more sour pits. No more beast boys smelling like wet bark.
"Maybe almost falling off that cliff wasn’t such a terrible idea after all," she muttered under her breath with a grin, dribbling a bit more Moonwater into the mix. The consistency loosened just right.
Ophelia leaned over her shoulder, wide-eyed and breathless. "Wow... it smells even better after mixing!" She sniffed the air like a rabbit and then glanced up at Isabella, her cheeks full of innocent wonder.
Isabella laughed under her breath. "It does, doesn’t it?"
Luca finally walked over, brushing his hands on his hide skirt and eyeing the mixture with mild curiosity. "I don’t think I’ve ever seen something smell this good before," he admitted, raising a brow.
"Of course you haven’t, Luca," Isabella shot back with a teasing smirk. "Now you can stop stinking."
He sighed and rolled his eyes but didn’t bother replying. His mouth twitched slightly—close to a smile—but he turned away like he was too proud to let it happen.
Ophelia’s eyes trailed toward the horizon and her mood visibly shifted. The sun had started to dip low, streaking the sky in rose and gold, and her shoulders slumped.
"Can we use this one now?" she asked with a little pout, hugging her arms around herself. "I still haven’t seen the miracle of soap you keep talking about..."
Isabella chuckled softly, shaking her head at the girl’s desperation. "Fine, you can."
She reached for a small gourd with a tight-fitting cover, carefully scooping out some of the soap and pouring it in.
"Don’t use all of it at once," Isabella warned, narrowing her eyes as she handed the filled gourd toward Ophelia.
Ophelia nodded so hard her head nearly detached from her neck. Her hands shot forward to grab it—but Isabella pulled back at the last second.
"Ah, ah," she scolded with a stern look, lifting her chin. "I’m not done yet. I’m not about to have you slipping and breaking your leg because you got soap in your eyes."
Ophelia immediately dropped her hands and stood straight, mouth pursed and her fingers clasped tightly in front of her stomach like a guilty toddler.
Isabella motioned toward the hut with a flick of her chin. "Take the cut hide from the log inside. Use that as a sponge."
Ophelia nodded again—so serious it almost made Isabella snort.
Isabella set the gourd down gently and turned to Ophelia with a face full of grave importance—like she was about to hand her the elixir of life itself.
"Okay. Listen very carefully," she said, holding up one finger like a teacher ready to deliver sacred instructions. "This soap is strong. That means you only need a little—tiny drops, Ophelia. Not a fistful. Not a waterfall. Just a drop, okay?"
Ophelia nodded obediently, eyes wide and sparkling. But Isabella had seen that look before. It was the "I’m nodding but absolutely going to do the opposite the second you turn around" look.
She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "No, I mean it. If you use too much, you’ll slip and break your back before you even get to smell nice."
"I won’t!" Ophelia insisted, pressing her hands together like she was swearing an oath. "Just a drop!"
"And don’t get it in your eyes," Isabella continued, wagging her finger. "The Skydew Lotus might boost skin vitality, but it’ll burn like fire if it gets in the wrong place. And if I hear even one scream from that river, I’m not running after you, you hear me?"
"Yes, yes, I swear!" Ophelia bounced a little on her feet, too excited to stand still. "A drop, no eyes, don’t scream. Got it."
Isabella raised a brow, unconvinced, but finally relented and passed her the sealed gourd. "Take the cut hide from on top the log inside. That’s your sponge. It’s soft enough not to scratch, and tough enough to survive you."
"Yes, yes!" Ophelia squealed. She spun around, bare feet kicking up little puffs of dust as she dashed into the hut, almost knocking over the stool near the door.