"That metaphor doesn't work," Ressa whispers.
"None of his metaphors work. We've learned to accept it."
A young orc approaches with two drinking vessels, setting them before us with the kind of reverent care that suggests Drogath's dramatic buildup is working on some audience members. The liquid inside is amber-colored and smells strongly of fermented grain and honey—standard festival brew, nothing actually sacred about it beyond Drogath's insistence.
Ressa eyes her vessel with visible hesitation. "What exactly is in this?"
"Fermented grain, honey, some herbs for flavor. Drogath probably added extra honey to make it more palatable." I lift my own vessel, studying the contents. "Standard strength, nothing dangerous. Though you'll want to pace yourself—it's stronger than human ale."
"How strong?"
"Strong enough that most humans feel effects after one full vessel." I take a measured sip, the familiar burn sliding down my throat. "Orcs have higher tolerance. I can drink three before feeling much."
She picks up her vessel but doesn't drink yet, just holds it while watching other pairs begin their consumption. Saela and Kai clink their vessels together before drinking, some private joke passing between them through glances. Ursik throws his back in three gulps while Kerra sips more cautiously.
"You don't have to participate," I tell Ressa quietly. "I can drink both portions and say you did. No one will check."
Her brown eyes shift to me, something complicated moving through her expression. "You'd do that?"
"Of course." The answer comes automatic, honest in ways I'm not examining too closely. "I said I'd get you out whenever you wanted. That includes letting you skip parts while maintaining appearances."
She studies me for several seconds, gaze moving across my face like she's cataloguing details the way I catalogue her movement patterns. Finally she lifts her vessel slightly.
"To honesty, I guess."
I mirror her gesture, the vessels making a soft clink as they touch. "To honesty."
She drinks. I watch her face shift through reactions—surprise at the sweetness, then the burn, then something thoughtful as she swallows. When she lowers the vessel, she's taken maybe a quarter of the contents.
"That's... actually not terrible."
"Honey helps." I sip my own at a more measured pace. "Still want to go slow. The effects build gradually."
"Noted." But she takes another drink anyway, this one slightly larger.
Around us, conversation builds as alcohol begins working through the gathering. The ritual structure Drogath outlined involves pairs answering progressively personal questions posed by clan elders, but in practice it's devolved into loose storytelling and confessions that range from profound to ridiculous.
Ursik is already halfway through some elaborate tale about his first raid that definitely didn't happen the way he's describing it. Kerra interjects with corrections that make the surrounding pairs laugh. Nearby, an older couple shares quiet words that carry the weight of years together.
Ressa takes another drink, then another. I notice her pace increasing and consider intervening, but she seems relaxed rather than anxious. Her shoulders have lost some of their constant tension, her expression softening from the sharp alertness she usually carries.
I don't usually suggest drinking to deal with pain—especially the memories that cause her the most—but I trust her to know her limits. And selfishly, I want to see her enjoy herself.
"Falla." My name in her mouth does something to my pulse that I'm definitely not analyzing. "Can I ask you something?"
"Of course."
"Why did you become a healer?" She shifts to face me more directly, movements looser than usual. "Most orcs I've met seem more interested in fighting."
The question catches me off-guard—not because it's intrusive, but because no one's asked me that in years. "My mother was a healer. Taught me from childhood. I found I preferred mending things to breaking them."
"That's rare. For orcs, I mean."
"Yes." I take another measured sip, watching firelight play across her features. "My father wanted me in the guard. Thought healing was... less honorable than combat. We disagreed strongly."
"But you did it anyway."
"Yes."
