Fill the tankard and raise the cup, let the mead flow free and sweet, for upon this day we are victors.
In the earth lay a glimpse of metal, the grey of vintage silver - not all the way to black but instead a patina of many shades. Tamsin bent to rescue it, it was a cup of sorts with one handle and a hinged lid that defied movement. With the hem of her shirt she polished it clean before wrapping it in cloth and placing it in her pack.
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