“Well, Larel and Fritz tell me that this is my party,” she said with sarcastic haughtiness.

“It is indeed!” Craig laughed loudly. He quickly downed the contents of his metal flagon, and slammed it against the table a few times for the bar’s attention. The Southerner jumped up onto his chair, swaying alarmingly for a moment. Raylynn was on her feet, ready to catch him. “Good people, fellow soldiers! It is our honor tonight to drink with the Windwalker herself !”

Vhalla’s cheeks burned scarlet as the room recovered from its stunned silence and burst into cheers.

“But, I regret to say, she does not yet have a drink!” Craig laughed.

Like magic, there were three glasses of varying shapes and sizes before her.

“Try this one.” Daniel placed a fourth glass in front of her; it was only the height of her fist and filled with a syrupy red liquid.

“What is it?” she asked.

“A Crimson Dragon.” He tapped his nose. “The West is known for them.”

Vhalla recognized the name and took a timid sip. It was icy cold and burned the back of her throat. She blinked away tears and held in a cough.

“Not a drinker?” Craig laughed.

“Nope!” Vhalla took another sip for good measure.

The Crimson Dragon was gone and the alcohol in two other glasses went quickly after. She and Daniel had found themselves engaged in an intense argument over the weight of a prize pig at one of Paca’s infamous festivals. Vhalla leaned on the table for support as she turned to face him.

“No, hundred,” she insisted. “I swear, I swear, that pig was a hundred stone.”

“Vhalla, you crazy Leoulian,” Daniel laughed and took another long gulp from his flagon. She watched the bump on his neck move as he swallowed. “No pig weighs anything close to a hundred stones.” He pointed a finger at her.

“Don’t you point at me.” She grabbed his index finger, a fit of the giggles overtaking her. “It is so rude.”

“Unhand me, woman.” Daniel tried to make his face serious, and Vhalla laughed at the way he pursed his lips together. Somehow everything was awfully funny right now.

“Fine. Fine. But you’re wrong, and you know it.” She leaned back into her chair.

“Vhalla, Daniel, we’re going.” Craig shook her shoulder.

Vhalla blinked, wondering when the rest of the table had stood. She’d only just started talking to Daniel.

“Where?” Her fellow Easterner was as confused as she was.

“Dancing!” Fritz twirled.

Vhalla burst out with uncontrollable laughter, almost spilling drink number ... something, everywhere.

“Do you want to go?” Larel laughed. The Western woman was looking out for Vhalla even when she had a flush to her cheeks. The big sister Vhalla never had.

“Of course!” Vhalla chirped cheerfully.