"It's wine an' then beer, you're in the clear," Hawk slurred, "beer an' then wine, you're doin' fine."

"No, that ent..." Teige broke off into laughter as they turned up a little set of steps, which ended on a roofline. The two moons hung low on the horizon still, one seemingly closer with an orange cast, the other behind it a ghostly blue.

Hawk sat himself down on the roof and smoked from the pipe that Teige had been carrying. Teige stood a moment, stretching his arms out wide beneath the moon.

"FEEL that!" he said, and sat. "Cold and clear, not one wisp o' summer left...this is a proper pooka's autumn. Not like t'at clammy shite this time last year in t' Archipelago." The chill didn't seem to bother him, though, with his coat of dark fur; and Hawk had still rolled the sleeves of his jacket up above his elbows. Teige gave a sort of sighing laugh. "I could howl at t' moon."

"Do pooka howl at the moon?" Hawk asked mildly, exhaling a lungful of smoke.

"Not as a matter o' course," Teige replied thickly, holding out his hand for the pipe. "But me buddy in college was a wulver. Swore by it, he did."