Cursed to be my Mate
Amira’s eyes widened as she looked at all the meat on it.
It better not go to waste.
The group of lads sat around the fire, toasting to their win with the finest ale from their waterskins and some whiskey from the small flask hidden in Baltir’s coat pocket.
“This is nice. It’s been a while since we’ve relaxed like this,” Tolvar spoke quietly. He was tall, lanky and a little awkward at times, but it seemed the alcohol loosened his lips. The guy was average with slightly rosy cheeks from the ale, hay-coloured hair pulled back into a small queue with a cord, and light blue eyes.