and the wish was enough,
Saphira did not imbibe often. In part, it was her warrior’s raising; she was never to be too drunk to fight, only drunk enough to feign joy in the form of numbness. Now, she had no money for drink; while some pissed away their meager earnings to fund alcoholism, she chose sobriety. She had no plans for where life would take her over death, but she’d been given something of a second chance - shitty as it was - and she wasn’t about to die over a bottle.
Today, the wine was free.
Summer had officially rendered her slick-black, the crimson of her undercoat only showing through as the first torches were lit. They may have staved off the evening darkness, but she was a shadow among the crowd, cutting through the wine-reds and festival-bright garb of Terrastella. Saphira dressed nicely for no one; as far as she was concerned, there was no one and nothing to dress for.
She’d stamped about in the grapes, which bordered on a good-natured moment and tempted the few who recognized her to offer a bottle here and there. Her smile frightened more than it comforted, so she gave only a nod and her thanks.
The deep blue-violet of sunset settled over the vineyard, and the black mare walked until the crowds settled to a murmur with it. She thought a nice spot to rest would be up ahead, but when she turned the corner, a familiar shape lay stretched out in the grass. She stopped for a moment and wondered if it’d be worth it; he was likely as drunk as her or more and he’d…been nice to her, in the end.
”Good evening,” he slurred, giggling. Saphira huffed, a smile tugging at her lips.
”I suppose it must be,” she replied, easing into the damp grass beside him.
