Fortunately, Cullen says that before Alistair takes a gulp of his own wine. He snorts, loudly, and lifts his bottle a few inches in agreement.

The drink's excellent -- thank you, Cabot, as always -- and sets to warming Alistair's belly in short order. The pie's even better, flaky and flavorful and filled with meat that hasn't been salted to the Anderfels and back. Maker, he's missed real food.