We’re all seated in the dining room, quietly eating dinner, the soft clink of cutlery against ceramic plates filling the room. It’s me, Mom, Myra, Alvida, and of course, Lana. As usual, Dad isn’t here—it’s been a while since I last saw him.
“Luke, how are you enjoying tonight’s meal?” Mom asks, her voice breaking the silence.
“Mmm, deliciousss,” I reply, my mouth still full of food.
Mom chuckles. “Fufu… I know pheasant is your favorite, but what makes it so special for you? Do you care to share?”
I pause, swallow a mouthful of food, and wipe my mouth with a napkin before answering.
“I just love it. Specifically, I prefer wild-hunted pheasant over the farm-raised kind. It has this mild gamey flavor that I really like. Plus, it’s leaner than chicken, which can be a bit too rich for me s
