“What are we drinking to?” the Dweymeri woman asked. “To Butcher,” Sid declared. “An ill-mannered, foulmouthed, fuck-ugly bastard I was proud to call brother. He lived and died on his feet in a world that tried to force him to his knees. May he find his familia waiting for him by the Hearth.” “Aye,”’Singer nodded. “And may we be slow to meet him.” “I’ll drink to that,” Sid said, quaffing his wine.
