Elora fetched the drinks easily enough, but by the time she turned to go back to Merradin he seemed to have slipped away into the crowd. She rolled her eyes with a wry little smile and set to weaving her way through the clusters of people, glancing around for him.
It really wasn’t much that did it. Someone was too drunk to watch where he was going and bumped into her shoulder, sending her rocking back on her heels and twisting to narrowly avoid smacking into another patron. While the first man slurred apologies, reaching for her shoulder to steady himself, the second caught her around the waist to keep her upright.
And she was trapped, held, back in that awful tent, dread and disgust clawing at her throat. The world tilted sideways, started spinning. Sounds were too loud, scents too strong, light too bright. She started shaking. The drinks she held clattered to the floor, and one man jumped back, yelling as alcohol soaked his boots.
The other kept his grip around her waist, laughing. “Easy now, we ain’t gonna hurtcha, lass.”
Bile rose in her throat and she shoved a ay from him. “G-get off me!”
The stranger reeled back, mumbling something about being unable to take a joke, and Elora felt her feet slipping beaneath her. Dizy and gasping, feeling as though someone had pressed a heavy weight onto her chest, she whirled and staggered for the door, scrambling out into the cooler, open air.
