Editing Dufiro foods (section)

===<div class="center" style="width: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;">'''Salt of the Earth'''</div>===
After several bites of food, Rafe set down his fork and turned to Bently, a glint of mischief lighting up his eyes. “I couldn’t help but notice,” he began with feigned casualness, “that you forgot to mention both Change and Earth Elementals in the context of food. Hope it’s not personal.”

Bently raised an eyebrow, instantly catching the playful jab. He knew Rafe’s dual affinities for Change and Earth were no secret. Around the table, the others perked up, sensing another round of insight—or perhaps just an excuse to tease Bently.

Rafe leaned back, swirling his coffee. “When I was at Shifter’s Hall, I visited the cafeteria there—my first encounter with Dufiro food and its preparation. It made sense that a Changer could turn one edible into another, but I hadn’t realized how crucial Earth was to the process.”

He paused, a wistful smile crossing his face. “I met a Dufiro there named Jasgl—a Change Elemental, Earth Spasa, and Blending Spasa. He made me an excellent meal, but it was his boss, an Avasa of Earth and Blending, who really left an impression. Best cup of coffee I’ve ever had. I remember what he told me: ''‘Earth is often thought brutish, but things of the earth are ours.’'' His name was Dyjik.”

Bently nodded, conceding the point with a slight smile. “I didn’t mention Earth or Change because, well, they get complicated in the food industries. It wasn’t an intentional omission.”

With a dramatic pause, he picked up the coffee pot and refilled his mug, savoring the moment. “But since you bring it up…”

The others leaned in slightly as Bently took a sip of his coffee, clearly relishing the attention.

“Change Elementals are too rare to make broad generalizations about,” he began, “but many I’ve known worked in... recycling, for lack of a better term. While they can’t quite turn lead into gold—not in their early stages—they can transform ruined materials into something valuable. Take a destroyed house, for example: its wood and fabric could be reworked into bolts of cloth, repurposed for the markets or fashion districts. Broken timbers and paneling can be pressed into aggregate boards, decorative veneers, or construction-grade materials.

“Avasa of Change? They’re something else entirely. They can transform rough pine into fine ebony—raw lumber or finished furniture alike. Change Masoja? That’s when you get into the legendary feats—turning lead into gold or crafting alchemical wonders.”

Rafe smirked. “I knew a Masoja who turned kitchen scraps into a feast once. Not exactly gold, but just as valuable when you’re hungry.”

“Exactly,” Bently said with a grin, raising his cup. “Now, as for Earth Elementals…”

He set the mug down with a soft clink. “Earth Elementals, especially young ones, often inhabit the land itself—farms, troughs, refuse pits. While they don’t yet possess the precision of Earth Spasa or Avasa, and certainly not Masoja, they can work wonders on a large scale. A single Earth Elemental might inhabit a 100-square-kilometer plot, enriching the soil, keeping weeds and pests at bay, and ensuring crops thrive.”

Olive wrinkled her nose. “Sounds glamorous.”

“Not always,” Bently admitted with a chuckle. “Some also manage... wet refuse.”

“Wet refuse?” Runner asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Exactly what you’re imagining,” Bently said dryly. “They inhabit areas where food scraps, rinds, and liquid waste are dumped, cycling it all into rich, fertile soil. It’s an essential part of the farm rotation here. Messy work, but vital.”

Sylex, who had been quietly enjoying the conversation, finally spoke up. “Experienced Earth Elementals, and many Earth Spasa, also work with undertakers. They process the dead—those without elaborate tombs or rites. They even craft tombstones.”

The table fell silent for a moment, reflecting on the breadth of responsibilities elementals took on. Elmer, ever blunt, broke the pause. “You’re telling me Earth Elementals are out there composting people?”

Sylex shrugged. “Death is no reprieve from duty, as the saying goes. Besides, it’s practical.”

Bently chimed in with a wry smile. “If it makes you feel better, they’re quite good at it. And some of those tombstones? Masterpieces.”

Dalt frowned, his curiosity clearly piqued. “I thought Dufiro were immortal?”

Bently’s expression shifted, taking on a more serious tone. “We are—but often, our bodies are not. Our heart flames are eternal. Your kinsman, Benedict? He carries a heart flame. Kill him, and he’ll return. But the lands of the Dufirosm aren’t just Dufiro. Thousands of other races call our realms home—humanoids, elves, dwarves, Adask, orcs, merfolk. Many hope to join our ranks as Rafe, Olive, Runner, and Elmer have. They die. Their death rituals change to reflect our ways: rotation by the Hierarchy of Earth. The Hierarchy of Death manages it all—the ceremonies, wakes, revels. What’s left goes to the earth.”

His gaze settled on Rafe. “They didn’t tell you that, did they? You only saw the power, not the obligations. But reputation is everything, and that means honoring those obligations.”

The table fell quiet again as the gravity of his words settled over them. Then Rafe broke the silence with a grin. “So, Earth’s the farmer, the cook, and the cleanup crew?”

Bently chuckled, raising his mug. “Among other things. Earth has always been the foundation, both literally and figuratively.”

The group laughed, the earlier tension giving way to camaraderie. Rafe leaned back in his chair. “I’ll drink to that. Though maybe I’ll pass on the wet refuse rotation next time.”

Bently joined in the laughter but leaned closer to Rafe, his expression calm yet pointed. Quietly, he said, “I suggest you don’t.”

A subtle wave of energy rolled over Rafe, a reminder that the fey and effete Bently, with his eleven Masoja races and aspirations for Life, Vision, and Wisher Masoja, was not just a friend—but a force to be reckoned with. Rafe shivered, nodding his silent acknowledgment.