— So, recently, the Captain started assembling a new squad, — Wigg explained, emptying his glass, — we weren't the first, and we won't be the last.
— Yeah, — Mekriy agreed, — they pay peanuts, and the conditions are terrible, who in their right mind would agree to such a life?
— Well, you're wrong, brother. — Wigg put a friendly arm around the healer, which made the latter feel somewhat uncomfortable. — We're all just commoners in the same boat, whether you're a peasant or a soldier. Or maybe a dinghy?...
— That's right, — Gale nodded, — unless your father didn't spread his seed in some noble mare, you'll be floundering around like crap in an ice hole for the rest of your life.
— Come on, there are plenty of good things in life, why think about the bad? — Wigg pointed with his hand towards one of the waitresses. — Check out the melons on that chick. I'd love to squeeze them in my hands, mm.
The soldier finished his mug and reached for a new one.
— Nothing, guys. Your misery is about to end because I... — Helmut burped. — ...know exactly how we're going to work. You'll be rolling in dough. That bitch will jump into your arms, hoping to marry you; those bastards will kiss your boots, Mek; that hag will beg you to bite her… whatever she has; and you, kid, will write a book about dragons, or dictate it, or someone will write it for you, whatever, if you're not good with letters...
He proclaimed a second toast:
— To the squad, guys! We need a name, but I haven't come up with one yet. We'll buy a dog or a wolf, rent a cool Castle with Towers and catapults, yeah... — Helmut took a sip of his second mug and muttered angrily into the table. — And I... I'll get to those bastards... I'll flay them, sew boots from their skin...