There's only a single night in the Westlander year during which you might see elvenfolk drinking in public, and that would be Anathain, Midsummer's Eve, the Night of a Thousand Lights. Otherwise, it's sort of a national tradition, both among wood elves and western elves, the only two sorts of elf usually known to Westlanders, to hide your liquor from mankind, stash it somewhere dark, cold and frightful, and, if all else fails, make it invisible with magic and curses, only to visit your beloved bottle of brandy every Friday only to open it with more affection than you usually give a spouse. Of course, that's a stereotype, Riandh remarked mentally, as he downed another pint of ale. He personally knew many, many elves who loved drinking – be it in private or otherwise – himself among them. But on Anathain, on Anathain elvenkind and alcohol would gain an entirely new dimension to their relationship.
Oh, Anathain, beautiful jewel in the summer's crown. Every single celebra