Ren glanced at Anik, but Anik wasn't paying attention to them. Despite having been chased across open fields by angry Skarlan soldiers, Anik seemed comfortable and relaxed, engaged in conversation with one of the refugees in their own, strange language. As Ren watched, the two of them laughed quietly, and he wondered if they were mocking his family, too. He wondered what these people would do if they found out he had been eating suckling pig with the Fraynean king all his life.

Suddenly, Anik raised his head and their eyes met. The smile Anik gave Ren was unlike any Ren had seen from him so far. It was happy and relaxed and lasted only a second before they both looked away.

“What are you doing here?” Sifa asked, angling her head at Ren.

Ren's eyes returned to her. “Running from the Skarlans, same as you,” he said. “They've been moving farther and farther across the border. We didn't want to stick around when they came to burn down our town.”

Sifa hummed, then gestured with both hands for everyone to gather around. One of the men stood, disappearing into the darkness and reappearing a moment later, carrying a wooden keg over one shoulder. Sifa filled bowls with its rich, golden contents and passed them around as the Lowlanders introduced themselves. Ren remembered none of the foreign-sounding names, except Leine, which was the name of the dark-skinned woman who had killed his horse. As far as he understood, she was Sifa's second.

“What is this?” Niklas asked, suspiciously sniffing the contents of his own bowl. He was still pale, but no longer looked like he was seconds from fainting.

It was Sifa who answered. “It's kalg, a Skarlan drink. The soldiers we killed last week had two kegs on a wagon,” she said, and laughed, emptying her bowl in one go before refilling it.

Ren lifted his bowl, sniffed it, and took a sip. It was hard not to grimace. The taste was nothing like wine. It was sharp, with an aftertaste not unlike blood. It sent a wave of heat all the way down his throat and into his chest.

A young woman next to him grinned and refilled his bowl. “Drink some more, that'll make it taste better.”

Ren didn't think it was a particularly good idea to get drunk while on the run from people who wanted to kill them. They had to keep moving, stay focused on the mission. He had made a habit of never drinking enough to lose his inhibitions in public. It clouded his mind and made him careless. In Aleria, he had quickly discovered that making deals drunk was the worst thing he could do, especially when those deals involved physical favours.