“Hey, hey, careful—” Zacheus held the young archer to his chest for a moment before delicately setting her down atop her chair. Thank Faram he hadn’t had too much to drink yet; his reflexes would’ve been too dulled by alcohol to properly catch her. The fact that he hadn’t had too much to drink yet was rather impressive, actually. Every ranger he knew (and some he didn’t) kept attempting to push mugs of mead or ale on him, ribbing him when he refrained. There were perks to being a stick in the mud.
“Are you all right?” he asked quietly, his brows knit in concern. She’d probably just had too much to drink, but it didn’t hurt to be cautious.