Early the next morning, Allen set off for Wilderness Town with the remaining Twilight Knights. He left Gael behind. The young man had finally managed to come home for a visit, so he might as well stay a few more days and spend some time with his grandfather, Hank.
As Allen rode along, thinking over the events of the previous day, his head still ached faintly. The fruit wine had tasted sweet and tart, almost like juice, but its alcohol content was far from low. It was even a little stronger than beer.
Allen and Hank had thoroughly enjoyed their drinks in Allen's army camp. By the end of dinner, a sizable pile of fruit wine bottles had accumulated on the table. Through his slightly bleary eyes, Allen thought he caught a look of reluctance in Gael's gaze.
Though the alcohol had dulled his reactions a little, Allen immediately understood. They had probably drunk through a large portion of Hank's stock, so he promptly called an end to the impromptu little feast.
Still, the old man, who was already in his fifties, could really hold his liquor. When Hank left the tent that night, he had not even needed Gael to support him. His tolerance was at least equal to Allen's.
Unfortunately, Hank never brought up his future plans again before dinner ended, sticking instead to idle conversation about unimportant matters. Allen knew the time was not yet right.
After all, these Northmen were unlike the Woodland Dwellers settled near the Misty Mountains and Dol Guldur. Before the Battle of Lonely Mountain, those people, who had suffered so much under darkness, had naturally wanted a powerful leader to shelter them.
Allen's reputation had happened to reach the surrounding areas, so Wilderness Town's population had grown as a matter of course.