From the short* (but still interminable) first chapter of WW bk 1:
Srila had had enough of temporary and more than enough of useless. Without stopping to consider consequences, she grabbed the bowl of spiced syrup intended for Paoala and swallowed it in one gulp. It had grown tepid, but the ginger and cinnamon lit a pleasant warmth in her throat.
“The council,” carped her sympath.
“Rot the council,” Srila muttered, picking up a sticky, yellow compress. “Help me.”
* I'll finish it soon, asakiyume. Promise. :P