Cei and the Forest That Measured Men
Emerald Ember: Cei and the Forest That Measured Men
Not every lesson in the Recipe Ledger comes with a roar.
Some come quiet.
Some come green.
After smoke and storm-spice, my dragon wanted another giant. Something brutal. Something that would leave claw marks on the page.
But the next name I heard wasn’t a king like Bendigeidfran, and it wasn’t a mountain like Idris Gawr.
It was Cei.
Sir Kay, if you’re the sort who likes your stories polished and courtly. But the old tales don’t paint him as polished. They paint him as useful. Dangerous. The kind of man who could make a forest feel like a hallway.
They said Cei could grow his body to the height of the highest tree in the wood.
That sounded like giant business to me.
So the dragon went looking for him where tall things live.
The wood was wet and green in that way Wales does best. Moss on stone. Ferns like hands. The air smelled clean enough to trick you into thinking nothing sharp could happen there.
That’s the first lie of green places.
The dragon padded between trunks, listening to the drip of water and the soft crack of old branches. No fire pit. No smoke trail. No feast smell.
Then the trees moved.
Not the wind. Not the leaves.
A shadow rose between the trunks, stretching upward like it had decided the sky was too close.
Cei.
He didn’t stomp. He didn’t announce himself. He simplyexpanded until his shoulders were level with the canopy, and the forest suddenly had a ceiling.
The dragon stopped.
Cei looked down, eyes calm.
“Why are you here?” he asked.
The dragon, being honest in the way dragons are honest, said, “I’m collecting recipes.”
Cei’s mouth twitched. Not a smile. A warning.
“Then you’ve come to the wrong place,” he said. “This isn’t a land of smoke.”
Cei stepped closer. The ground didn’t shake, but the air changed.
“Lowland cooks,” he said, and I was starting to notice giants all share that line like it’s a family joke, “think heat is the only proof of strength.”
The dragon lifted its chin.
“It’s not?”
Cei reached down and snapped a branch as thick as a wrist. He rubbed the broken end between his fingers.
“Strength,” he said, “is control.”
Then he set the challenge:
“Bring me a dust that doesn’t bully. A dust that doesn’t shout. A dust that makes food taste alive.”
The dragon rummaged in its satchel and pulled out a tin.
Black. Plain. Serious.
Cei nodded once, approving the lack of decoration.
The dragon cracked the lid.
Inside was green.
Not neon. Not sweet-shop. A deep, honest green — like crushed leaves and fresh peppers.
Emerald Ember.
Cei leaned in.
The smell was bright: herbs, savoury notes, and that clean jalapeño edge that doesn’t burn your face off — it just makes you want another bite.
“Gentle,” Cei said.
The dragon bristled.
“Careful,” Cei added. “Gentle isn’t weak.”
Cei didn’t build a big fire. He didn’t need to.
He took food that belonged to the forest: meat, flatbread, onions, whatever could be carried and cooked without turning the place into a campsite. He warmed it over a small flame hidden behind stones, the way you do when you don’t want the world to know you’re there.
Then he used the dust.
Not heavy. Not reckless.
Just enough.
The green clung to the surface like it had manners.
The dragon watched, confused. No dramatic hiss. No smoke explosion. No heat flex.
Cei handed the dragon a piece.
The dragon bit.
First came freshness.
Then came savoury depth.
Then came the jalapeño warmth — gentle, steady, and clean. The kind of heat that doesn’t punish you for being human.
The dragon blinked.
It wanted to call it “not hot.”
But the flavour stopped that thought in its tracks.
Because the food tasted alive.
Cei folded his arms.
“Remember this,” he said. “Not every fire has to be a war.”
And then, because he was Cei, he added:
“If you can’t make gentle taste good, you don’t deserve to cook loud.”
The dragon wrote it down immediately.
The lesson the dragon wrote down
Control beats chaos.
Gentle heat can still be serious.
Cook it like a giant: treat green heat with respect — use enough to wake the food up, not enough to drown it.
Try it here: Emerald Ember Rotisserie Lamb Doner