A Health to the Company
It was late afternoon. Motes of dust drifted lazily through the beams of sunlight spilling from the windows of the dimly lit lounge in Menphinaās Bosom. Mirrinās soft leather shoes betrayed no hint of her presence as she walked down the steps, following the familiar, gruff voice singing at the bar. The song was only briefly interrupted by the sound of liquid pouring into glass, and a swift gulp as the scruffy Miqoāte man threw the amber liquid back. Mirrin stifled a snort, at least Beren had picked the quality Cedarwood Cider this time, though this means sheād have to replenish the stock later. She tapped on his shoulder, startling him as he was letting out a particularly raucous verse, causing him to yelp in surprise, and turn around at the intruder.
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