It was the crack of dawn, which meant Galain was already up and doing who knows what who knows where. His wife was awake too... sort of, standing behind the bar in a white shift, masses of red curls hanging down into her face, and sipping at a cup of coffee that could barely be seen behind the tangle of flaming tresses.
At least he had put the coffee on before disappearing, which she was profoundly grateful for.
In the disarray of things Galain Alcarin called a kitchen she had been fortunate to find the mug she was drinking out of, never mind the beans. In her sleepy haze she hadn't noticed that the cup itself said Berelath's #1 Elen Prince on it, and probably wouldn't have cared. It was clean... small favours.
There was also a fire going to ward off the morning chill, another gratitude for An'Thaya, who had been born and raised on the hot-house planet of Whispin.
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