Death was a hefty price to pay for vodka.
The last thing I remembered was a thunderous roar echoing down a narrow tunnel. Then, the choice to risk venturing into an enemy kingdom rather than starve to death by the rocks we couldn’t move.
Days of wandering down that tunnel, each step leading to more dehydration and eventually, delirium.
Which was probably right about when my cousin Davin and I decided to open a bottle of vodka to keep warm.
Maybe that was where we had gone wrong. We were too incoherent to notice the soldiers creeping in on us, too dizzy to fight back.
Or maybe it was before that, months before that, when I made the decision to go down into the tunnels to begin with.
Either way, it was hard to deny we had erred somewhere along the way when I woke up on the floor of a Socairan dungeon.
