Lunareio leaned back, his throat still tingling from the fiery Dwarvish firewhiskey he'd spat out moments ago.
He glanced at the offending goblet, then at Branna, who was adjusting a platter of honeyed figs. Clearing his throat, he spoke.
"Branna, could you find me something… softer to drink, to ease the sting of the liquor? Milk, perhaps?"
Branna paused, her wild orange hair bouncing as she turned, her amber eyes blinking in thought. She rubbed her chin, her freckled face scrunching slightly.
"Milk, my lord? Hmm, let me think… I reckon I could take a look around the kitchens. Might have some fresh from the goats in the lower stores."
She nodded, wiping her hands on her apron.
"Aye, I'll see what I can dig up."
Lunareio's lips curved into a faint smile. "I'd appreciate it, Branna."
She gave a quick, respectful nod, her wine bottle clinking at her hip as she turned to leave.
