“
Kravmik frowned at me. “It’s bogearth. We cut it for the cook fires—wood’s too expensive to burn here, coal ruins the food, and turds . . . well, humans get funny about turd smoke.” “You’re making beer out of malted barley. That you’re drying over peat fires,” I murmured reverently. “Bogearth, whatever. And you’re distilling the beer to make, uh, grillswill.” “Well, yeah.” “Oh, my sweet and generous gods.” I took a sip. It was liquid fire. Too young. Too harsh. Unfiltered. Yeast and fermentation esters. It was fucking magnificent.
”
”