As Aerith circles the table, he gives the tree another once-over before expertly flicking the knife around and tucking it back into the makeshift sheath at his belt, decisively finished. Especially when there's more pastry to be had. He plucks two off the stack and eats one immediately, relaxing back into his chair the way he had been before impromptu arts and crafts time.

Hell yeah. The strawberry ones again. And this time he's not eating them in a wet cave on the verge of starvation.

Every so often his eyes go back to the bush. If you really use your imagination, he looks proud of it. If you really read into the stony glare.