Ravensblood Forest Yer family tree is a wreath

It was the worst. It simply was the worst! Farren could not fathom what had possessed her to roam like this, especially when a warm home with fresh (ish) grog was available the opposite direction. Or, maybe she was heading home? Really, truly, Farren had no idea where she was, and as her aching brain ran through a laundry list of epithets and curses which were all self-directed, she heard a voice that was familiar.
Eyes brightly lit upon the swarthy figure; but then she squinted, because ow, daylight.
Nox?! What the hell was he doing all the way out here? Oi, if this was some type of jest—was this a dark trick? Had he been her drinking partner? Farren hurried up the rise to meet his waiting silhouette, long limbs devouring the territory between them.
It been the drink! Me last customer paid me with swill. Absolute garbage, that there stuff. One o' these days she'd give up the drink, but, even a trash brew could not be ignored.
What've you?