“You’re not immortal or invulnerable, but no, you’re resistant to illness.” He let out a sigh. “I, unfortunately, am not, so I’ll take the preventative. I’ve never devised a way to make them taste less foul.” “Well, you just entrance yourself so you think it tastes like ale or wine or whatever. It doesn’t, but you think it does and that’s the same thing, right?” He lowered the tankard, stared at her. “That’s bloody brilliant, and it annoys me that in all my life I didn’t think of it.”
