Bound to the Beast
The bartender, a portly man with a hearty laugh, greeted us warmly.
“What’ll it be Alpa, Jace?” he asked, acknowledging us both.
I ordered two mugs of drinks, and Michael nodded in agreement. As the drinks were placed before us, I raised my mug in a toast. “To old friends and moments of respite,” I said, a genuine smile gracing my lips.
Michael clinked his mug against mine. “To that,” he replied, his eyes reflecting the sentiment.
We drank and talked, reminiscing about the battles we’d fought side by side, the victories and defeats that had shaped us. The burdens of our personal lives seemed to fade away again in the warmth of the tavern.
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