Bright yellow flames burned the dry wood in the fireplace with a crackle. Warmth spread over his cold, damp arms, evaporating the dew on his fine hairs.
The noise in his ears was a jumble of shouting, laughter, and curses:
"Take that cracked-bell voice of yours and get lost! Stop fucking ruining my drinking!"
"If it weren't pouring outside, I'd have taken my jug home and gone to bed already!"
"Even my grandma couldn't be bothered to listen to these stale old stories!"
Crude and chaotic.
Yet it was the only sign of life in the cold, silent night.
Bang, bang!
Gravel felt someone pounding on his table. The voice was somewhat shrill, yet also low:
"Aren't dwarves supposed to be great drinkers? We've barely started, and you're already face-down? I thought drinking was the only thing you dwarves were good at—"
Whoever was speaking seemed to be tapping his foot against Gravel's broad back, forcing him to lift his head from the arms he had been using as a pillow.
"Star Plum Wine isn't even as strong as dwarven liquor. You never passed out this quickly back in the Northern Lands."
His awareness gradually returned, and Gravel shook his groggy head.
He turned toward the black-haired man with the little braid and finally realized he had fallen asleep in the Golden Oak.
"This is fucking weird. I'm not feeling it today..."
He muttered.
"You need to feel something to drink? Tip your head back, drink, then let out a nice, hearty 'That hits the spot!' What else do you want to feel? Star Plum Town doesn't have any brothels—where would you find a hairy woman to spend your money on?"
"Black Snake, I've never fucking paid for a woman!"
Gravel muttered indignantly.
He did not dare raise his voice,