Ravensblood Forest Yer family tree is a wreath

Swiftly, he raced to greet his old friend with a spindly-limbed embrace, breathing in the recognisable tang of fermentation that clung to her fur. No matter how far she was from Dreadmurk, there were some things that never changed. A hearty grin split his features as he drew back to study her in full.

"Musta been right bilge water to send ye packin' from Ma's place, aye?" The last drink they'd shared had been a good one - a proper send-off - but Farren had always been one to lick the barrel 'til it ran dry. And here she was, in his neck of the woods.

"Ain't had a drop since I last saw yer ol' face," he jested almost forlornly.