It was delicious. Murkwood had a head for the beverage, but perhaps too much of one, because in a moonturn's time he had drunk nearly all of it. Some had been been put aside for his children to sample, of course, and the others in his part of the swamp -- those that had curried favor -- but of course being out of it would just not do.
Having left his sons in charge, Murkwood himself actually left his small corner of the swamp, making his way to where Stand Your Ground had mentioned meeting the acha. Having a slight predisposition against, well, anyone else, meant that when Murkwood finally found the little acha he drew himself up, standing a few paces apart from her, watching her with his serious blue eyes, brows drawn together over them.
Patmos of Endtimes
good luck, Tipsy.