62. Redtown

“Well, how’s the drink?”
Sona took another sip. “Delicious. Yours?”
“Carmine makes nothing better,” Taos said, throwing his tankard back and chugging at least half. He broke away from it with a loud exhale of refreshment. “Why I brought this second one for you.”
Without letting her protest, he refilled her glass to its brim. Somehow it didn’t spill all over her. She glared at his self-satisfied grin. “If your plan is to get me drunk…”
“I have a feeling that your tolerance is low, healer. Judging by your deepened scowl, I am correct. Go on, tip it back.” Taos used two fingers to lift the bottom of Sona’s glass up. “At least get tipsy. It optimizes the fun.”
No one she was close to drank often. She’d gone to taverns for a small glass, but Taos was right: she had a very low tolerance for alcohol. Growing up, Auryn had taught her that it posed as many things: a truth serum, a blindfold, an invitation for trouble, or poison—or all three. Yes, she could confidently say she was sheltered. She never had any desire to be tipsy or otherwise for pleasure.
Alcohol was also utilized as a forgetter. It drowned sorrows and angers. It was a temporary solution to pain that could end up being the cause of pain. Sona never had enough pain or sorrow or anger to drink away.
Nowadays, however…
She glanced from Taos to the golden drink and back. “Elaborate on your evil plan for ‘fun.’”
“Nothing evil,” he promised. His wicked grin suggested otherwise. “Just carefree reveling.”
“That’s not elaborate.”
“*Drink*,” he ordered.
“Fucking fine,” Sona snapped before mumbling into the rim, “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”
Taos chuckled. “You’ll be fine. I won’t let you do anything stupid.”
“I worry about you *making* me do something stupid.”
Sighing, Sona chugged the rest of her glass and slammed it on the bench. She clapped her hand over her mouth to stifle the belch that threatened. Though successful, Taos still threw his head back and howled with laughter. Then he downed the rest of both tankards and slammed those down too.
He slapped and squeezed her thigh. “You can stay delicate, trinket, but there’s more than just alcohol that you need to build up a tolerance against.”
“Like?” she asked suspiciously.
“You’ve already encountered some: hate, distrust, inflated egos…the list can go on.” Taos hoisted himself up and held out a hand for her to take. “Do you like sweets?”
His first sentence dimmed her mood, but the second brought it back to life. She grabbed his hand and jumped to her feet. “*That* I will gladly ingest.”
*Sweets* was just a tasty word for fruits and nuts in sugar or honey, but Sona had a long craving for them while she was pregnant with Raff; sometimes it felt good to re-indulge.
“Good. If there’s anything Redbone could be known for, it’s our ability to utilize our resources. You know…” Taos wound his arm around her waist once again and leaned his cheek to her temple to murmur, “If you haven’t noticed a theme yet…”
“What theme?” His breath now reeked of alcohol, not that hers was any better.
They turned back onto the bustling main street. It felt like she was visiting a city for the first time. Sights, smells, and sounds bombarded her sensitive eardrums—all things she’d grown up around…nearly undone by a measly two weeks.
It was a sea of redheads and scant clothing, muscular bodies decked in bones: clunky necklaces, layered armbands, earrings, rings on fingers and through nostrils, braided in hair. It was mostly small animal skulls, but antlers of all sizes were sported as various pieces; the most popular seemed to act like an extra set of clavicle bones resting atop breastbones.
Males and females alike were simply and complexly dark and beautiful. They smiled and laughed but it was all canines and barks. They were graceful but carnally so; if they were to go to battle, they would make a dance of it. They were thoroughbred werewolves to their core: deadly and born to howl at the moon in the night.
But the pups—oh, they were everywhere. They were all teeth and barks too, just a little sharper and smaller. Little ones running between legs and getting into trouble, just like in Moonvalley. *Sona* used to be one of those mischievous scamps always forgetting they would be scolded later.
She was very aware of glares or surprised double-takes, but once her attention was caught by the younglings, she could only focus on them chasing one another, Shifting between their base and wolf forms, tumbling over their own feet or paws, yelling and shouting names and protests.
So innocent and carefree. Raff was a few years off from Sona ever letting him roam the town with no adult supervision, but it didn’t stop her from imagining all the fun he could have.
A gaggle of them came barreling out of an alleyway shouting and immediately causing chaos. One was tripped by an ankle and fell right in front of Sona.
“Oh!” She dropped onto her knees despite Taos’ protest. “Are you alright, little pup?”
The young male could have been only five or six years old. He was weeping silent tears and sniffed when Sona gently lifted him onto his bare feet by the underarms. He didn’t fight back or glare or scream; just rubbed his dirt-smeared face with an arm. Sona brushed off the dust on his front and brushed back his hair. His knees and elbows were skinned, but in the few moments it took to pick him up, all that was left was some blood.
“Are you alright, little one?” she asked again softly.
His eyes were teary but he nodded. “I’m okay.”
Sona smoothed his eyebrows out. “That’s good. You seem pretty tough to handle some scrapes.”
He quirked his head, interest besting his fading pain. “I *am* tough. Don’t you know who my uncle is?”
“I don’t,” she encouraged with a smile. “Who is he?”
The pup pointed. “Him.”
Sona followed his finger.
He was pointing at Taos.