Vera nodded and walked over to pick up the tin mug from the ground first, against habit which called out to the knife. It was odd to use the inside of her sleeve to wipe off the cup when her uniform was already imperfect. The action was automatic. Vera thought that she should have apologized again. She lifted the knife from the dirt and slid it into the side of her boot. She should have apologized again or said something biting. Instead Vera did not say anything.
Eithne stood some feet away now. Vera stepped around the campfire and went to sit on the stub of wood at the edge of the circle. She rested her arm on her knee and flexed her hand. Crazy. Nothing thinking clearly. The words seemed to creak inside of her muscles and she wanted very badly just to shake them off.
Would she have followed through with the blade, if the dream had gone differently? It was still difficult, believing something so vivid was a dream. She did not want to think of how Bahn would have reacted. Or if it had been her nephew... Vera couldn't look back at Eithne, so instead she looked inside the mug and finally recognized the scent coming from it.
"Whiskey," she said quietly, confirming it only to set the empty mug on the ground. There was a long pause. "That's too bad."