The word wahine brought to mind a pig trussed up in a Hawaiian-printed evening gown, ready to be roasted on a fragrant spit.

Not that she mentioned this or let it show on her face.

Brooke did a small curtsey, and stepped out into the corridor. "I wasn't sure what you liked to eat - and the first time I fed one of your brothers, it was very much a failure - but there's hummingbird cake and pasta salad and cherry limeade and club sandwiches." Food that was far more basic than what Brooke was used to, but wasn't that the point? To get off of the pedestal she had situated herself on top of and getting to know her fellow Xavierites?