Staring at the wooden cup, its liquor slightly cloudy, with bits of residue floating near the bottom, whether coarse wheat dregs or dust she couldn't even tell, the black-haired girl made no move to drink. She merely glanced at it and set it down. Beneath her dark robe, her pale face revealed a trace of disdain.
She could hardly believe anyone would compare this pitiful fare to the magnificent feast Veyrith had once prepared for the gathered gods. Even the finest elven wines she had tasted before made this stuff seem like the difference between paradise and filth.
Just as she had expected: cheap swill from some mortal tavern. No doubt only these ignorant frogs in a well, who had never experienced the wider world, could mistake such rubbish for a rare and exquisite delicacy.
