WC: 460
Jacquez took one last swig from the broken bottle before tossing it aside, letting it land with a rustle amidst the carpet of dead leaves. Things had been interesting in his kingdom lately, new faces mingling with old ones, deserters drifting back to avoid being lost in the northern snows by themselves. Leroy said the winters here were harsh, much colder than autumn was now. Susquehanna of Ani Waya had said something similar, that he should take precautions such as gathering blankets.
It was hard to imagine, really; could weather get much colder than this? He could already see his breath with every exhale, a phenomenon he had only seen at high seas when ice formed on the rigging. If ice was going to form all over the land... he was going to need more than a blanket or two to prepare.
So instead of being useful and collecting firewood or garments, the monarch instead raided one of his personal alcohol stashes and decided to get a good morning buzz going. Everything was easier with alcohol. Words flowed more easily from his lips, and his charm and wit were invincible. He had such a high tolerance after a lifetime of liquor abuse that it would take several bottles before he would stagger or even slur... Usually the only outward clue that he had been at the bottle was the sour scent on his breath or the constant need to urinate. The Optime wiped his lips on his arm, black eyes glittering pleasantly. There, who needed to worry about winter? He was royalty! He could handle anything!
He found that his amblings had taken him across the worn trail that marked the old racetrack. The weathered wooden barn stood nearby, framed by the paddock fence that corralled the Miracles herd of horses. Rue was not with him today, since she usually spent her nights with her wetnurse and only joined him once noon had passed. Jacquez imagined that Haven and Heath, who had a much more vested interest in the silly beasts, had been keeping an eye on the youngest foal to make sure she was healthy. He certainly knew nothing of animal husbandry.
He was reminded of this as a huge red stag bounded before his eyes, tossing its crown of antlers before joining the scruffy horses. Maybe that bottle of rum had been more potent than he thought, to get him hallucinating... What on earth was that deer doing? He peered at the ungulate for a moment, scratching his chin before it dawned on him -- of course, he had seen this deer before. It was the fearless one, the pet that Finn Fidh had brought in the rainstorm days ago. What was she up to these days, anyway?