Achenar tugged the cloth's edge and ran a hand across the surface to smooth out any wrinkles. Everything was perfect; he hoped they'd appreciate it.
When he'd first arrived on Haven, the loneliness had been oppressing. The animals cried out into the night, seemingly expressing his grief in their primal cries. They all seemed to be taunting him, especially those Mangrees with their ever chirpy cries and infuriating habit of throwing fruit. Stupid animals.
He'd been out tracking Zeftyrs when he found it. Just off one of the animal tracks there stood a tree. No taller than its neighbours, but with a bark the colour of rust and with long, waxy leaves. After further investigation he found that tiny pods grew beneath these leaves and promptly filled his knapsack with them before returning home.
He'd tried eating them but that idea was quickly discarded. The outside was a bitter as Sirrus's cooking and the inner no better. He wasn't about to invent some mystical healing properties in them as an excuse to eat them, so perhaps a different use might be found. He tried drying them out in the noon's hot sun but that just made them even harder and more useless. Next he tried boiling them, which left him with a thick, acrid smelling mush.
It had taken him a few tries to discover what use this mush could be used for but finally he'd found it.
Roused from his reverie, Achenar stood up and went to one of the storage boxes he kept in his 'house'. Reaching in he pulled out three objects and set them around the table, gently arranging their limbs and ears to look as life-like as possible.
The mush, when thinned with water, had been useful for something…
It pickled Mangrees perfectly! Now he had all the company he could ever possibly want!