A Winter Veil Morning

The feast went on until very, very late, and the cheerful atmosphere lingered on.

Once the misunderstandings had been cleared away, everything felt much lighter. No one brought up anything inappropriate again. Even the proudest guests let down their guard and awkwardly joined the feast, quickly mingling with the Tauren.

At the right moment, Hamuul produced his treasured wine jar from beneath the table. It had been brewed years ago, when grain had been plentiful. It carried a faint fragrance, and a sip revealed a hint of refreshing sweetness.

The Shu'halo loved brewing wine from corn. Though it lacked the richness of liquor made from other grains, its crisp sweetness unexpectedly suited these guests' tastes.

As they drank the Tauren's fine liquor, some enthusiastic Night Elves happily brought out their own raspberry wine to share. They threw their arms around one another's shoulders and drank to their hearts' content, wolfing down grilled meat seasoned with nothing but salt until they passed out cold.

Sian secretly dipped a little wine from Hamuul's cup and put it in his mouth. It was so spicy that he stuck out his tongue, nearly knocking over the table in his panic and making everyone burst into laughter.

In the happy, comfortable atmosphere, Cairne raised his cup to the guests with a smile and casually pushed a huge platter of meat in front of the little one.

The young Tauren threw himself into battle against the food as though out of spite. No matter how the elves egged him on, he stubbornly refused to touch another cup.

He buried himself in the platter and devoured an enormous amount of roasted meat by himself, stuffing his belly until it was round and swollen.

By the time he was too full to eat another bite, nearly all the guests, including the chieftain, had collapsed across the floor. Only Hamuul remained, looking half-dead.

Corn wine had always had quite a kick to it, and those fools who did not know their limits had mixed it with other alcohol as well. One after another, they had gone down.

His belly was stuffed, his head warm and foggy from the alcohol, and the hearth fire burned especially fiercely. In that warm atmosphere, he shook his head and flopped face-first onto the table.

He would leave the rest to Uncle Hamuul. After all, Hamuul was the one who had brought the wine!

With that irresponsible thought, Sian gradually drifted off to sleep.

Sian woke up suffocating. Not because he needed to pee, but because someone was blocking his air.

The moment he groggily opened his eyes, he saw Baine's stinky bovine face right in front of him, with two fingers shoved into his nostrils. Never mind how filthy that was—it scared the life out of him.

"Sleepyhead, get up already!"

"Waaah!!!"

Startled, Sian rolled upright and scrambled to his feet, only for his head to slam into a pillar with a thud.

"Ow, ow... What was that for?!" Sian wailed, rubbing his head. "Why are you in my house?!"

To his surprise, Baine nearly jumped in fury at those words.

"You idiot, open your eyes and look properly! This is my tent! You're lying in my bed!!!"

"Your tent?"

Sian was a little more awake now, though he still could not make sense of the situation. He let out a huge yawn, looked around, then asked in confusion, "How did I end up here?"

"How should I know?!" Baine snapped. "In the middle of last night, Uncle Hamuul barged in carrying you while reeking of alcohol. He casually tossed you down, then passed out himself."

He grumbled unhappily, "I'm supposed to be an injured patient. It was bad enough that I wasn't allowed to attend the feast, but then I got treated like this!"

Sian rubbed his nose and smiled sheepishly. "Um, why didn't you wake me up...?"

Baine rolled his eyes. "Because after throwing you down, Uncle Hamuul collapsed too! He landed right on top of me, and nearly broke the newly healed parts of my bones!"

Baine said pitifully, "He's seriously heavy. I had to use all my strength just to shove him onto the floor, and I even had to hop around on one foot to cover him with a blanket." Baine wore an expression of utter despair. "And wake you up... Do you think I was playing with you first thing in the morning?"

Sian scratched his head and said awkwardly, "Yeah, I guess I was sleeping pretty deeply..."

"Pretty deeply?" Baine's mouth twitched. "You'd better think back and see whether you had any strange dreams last night. Like being chased by packs of Thunder Lizards, or fleeing after the earth split apart."

"Huh?" Sian scratched his butt, failing to catch Baine's sarcasm and becoming even more puzzled.

Baine rolled his eyes helplessly. "I kindly gave you half my bed, and you nearly kicked my ribs apart in the middle of the night. I never noticed before, but your sleeping posture is unbelievably awful!"

Sian's face instantly turned red. His restless sleeping habit had formed when he was little, and it was not so easy to change now. Still, having it discovered was especially embarrassing.

Before he could angrily offer a few excuses for himself, Baine happily yanked off the blanket.

He said excitedly, "All right, all right! Now that you're awake, hurry up and go! The Winter Veil festival is about to begin, and I can't wait to play all day!"

When it came to the Winter Veil festival, any worries could be set aside. Every young calf looked forward to a day like this, when they could cast everything aside, free from their elders' supervision, and run wild to their hearts' content.

"Huh? It's already been set up? I thought we'd have to wait another couple of days!"

Hearing the news, Sian's face brightened as well. But then he suddenly felt worried. After everything frightening that had happened lately, would this year's Winter Veil be a little different?

Inside the Spirit's Tent, Hamuul closed the last scroll with bloodshot eyes and a yawn.

After the previous night's revelry and the barrage of early-morning interruptions, even the Tauren's massive body seemed to have shrunk somewhat. He gently patted Fandral, who looked equally drained, on the shoulder and forced out a smile.

"Master Staghelm, let's call it here for now. History can be sought at any time, but this year's Winter Veil only comes once."

Fandral shook his head. He had just pieced together a rough outline from these precious records, and his interest was at its peak. A hangover could not diminish his scholarly enthusiasm.

Just as he was about to refuse Hamuul's invitation and stay a while longer to continue his research, Hamuul simply snatched the scroll from his hand. Grinning foolishly, he used the Tauren's naturally terrifying strength to push him toward the door.

"This festival can only be held thanks to the Night Elves' help. If you don't appear, then no matter how perfect this festival is, it still won't be perfect!"

With things put that way, Fandral could not refuse. He could only temporarily suppress his scholarly urge to study.

Fine, I'll relax a little too. Honestly, hangovers are far too miserable. Even elves blessed by dragons can barely endure them...

As they walked, Fandral suddenly remembered something. "By the way, Master Hamuul, have you seriously considered little Sian's proposal?"