Guarf held the steaming mug of honeymint tea under Lupe’s nose. “Oh, what a sour expression that stunning girl could make, when hung-over and irritable!” Guarf laughed to himself. Contrasting the two sisters, Matty never looked as bratty as Lupe did just now. (He had no idea what Zep would look like in the morning, afternoon, or otherwise. All he knew of her was she lived almost as a cloistered servant of Elune, virginal and pure.)
“Bugger off, you old fart!” Lupe grumbled, pulling the blankets over her horns, and kicking over a side table with her big hooves. (She was still working on her presence and power: “Like a damn bull in a damn china shop!” thought Guarf.)
“Aye, little girl, I won’t bug you, but this tea will help quiet those goblins setting up shop in your skull—it does soothe the hammering, ya sassy little pine-nut…”
These draenei girls became slightly bitchy when they tried to keep up with the dwarfs. He knew this was not the occasion to be sanctimonious or lecture her on trying to replace one’s pints of blood with pints of Dwarven stout.
The morning was foggy, grey, and impermeable to the tea, the fire, and the tasks ahead. Nothing for it but a good breakfast, or two, a pipe smoke, and some rest.
Writer’s Note: I use Guarf has a “lent character,” or persona-on-loan. Guarf, or the human behind Guarf, has nothing to do with this narrative other than indulge me as a fanfic writer.