With the coming of morning, there was still not a single Red Feather man awake. So hard they had pushed themselves, and so much alcohol they had consumed. It was only to be expected. Most of them lay there, in the courtyard, still in their armour, completely passed out and dead to the world. They greeted the morning sun with unconscious irritation, and shifted a sleepy arm to shield their eyes, before once more drifting into a deep sleep.
Once they finally did awake, they did not exactly feel fresh. Such was the price they had to bear. Even with such terrible hangovers, there was not a single man that did not smile. All the alcohol in the world could not drown out their feeling of accomplishment.
