As I sat beside the warm hearth, I wondered if perhaps it was a bad omen, drinking a cider called Bramble on the eve of our departure to the haunted woods. I savoured the flavour of berries in my mouth, knowing that in the week hence it would likely be traded for ash and blood.
This cider is my sister's laugh, and the sun drenched fields of my youth.
Reviewed on 26 May 2024
