Today's OneWord: Wishful

"You ever think we'll get out of this alive?" asked Brach, as he passed me a bottle of something purple and strong.

I laughed. "Some soldiers might call that wishful thinking, comrade." I drank from the bottle and tasted a mixture of plums and burning. And not like a delicious plum pudding lit on fire, either. No, just burning.

"I figured," sighed Brach. He leaned against the wall now, snapping and unsnapping the clips on his utility belt.

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