Chapter 33. Wolven Dance

CYRAN

“She sings well,” Hustin says.

“Your mouth is open,” I snap and Laen laughs.

“He’s been ogling at her since when she arrived. She’s really pretty, though. We haven’t had one of those in a while,” Allos says.

I bristle at him, “Hey back off!”

“Shut the fuck up, Al,” Gylen says briskly, and he raises his hands in surrender.

“They’ve been on the juice for a while now. You can’t blame them,” he says to me.

I peer at the bottles around us, and I count twelve.

“Allos had the most of them,” Pedran points out.

“You barely had two. Go on, elf, drink up!” Seirmon says and hands me a bottle.

“I hear elves don’t get intoxicated. That true?” Allos inquires.

I reflect on the Fall festival last year when Saelyna had drunk herself into a stupor.

“Yes, I suppose. Halden mead, however, takes a toll. It’s brewed from the barks of the Willan tree, grown on Mount Iden. I suppose it has magical properties. It’s the only thing t