"I'm sure there are still places we can scrounge drinks somewhere. I'm not sure they'd be the sorts of places either of us would care to frequent." It's not that he's a snob. He truly isn't. It's that since the disaster entertainment of any sort has been almost fully overrun by a criminal element. Their spirit of cooperation has only gone so far, and neither side is willing to get too deeply into bed with the other for fear of debts.

The smell of roasting meat and stewing vegetables is thick in the air by the time they get back to the camp. Cullen waves away the offer of one of the first cuts. It's good to see his and Aveline's men and women mingling in a spirit of companionship, exchanging rough jokes and lining up to get their shares.

The mages still sit off to the side. They're not being ostracized as far as he can tell. There has always been that separation out in public. Whether it's for the best or not, he can't say. He catches Aveline watching him watching them, a complex look passing between the two. When it's his turn, he steps up for his serving and helps himself. He takes his food a little off to the side. He doesn't want to put a damper on the others' high spirits or make them feel self-conscious with their commander looming and listening to every word. He's used to the separation by now, having to hold himself away. He notices Aveline does the same.