As they led Adela forward, each of the three women held her own torch, their steps steady and practiced from countless walks along this path.
"The bride's tent is right over there," the woman closest to Adela said, her Latoran accent heavy.
Upon reaching the entrance, the same woman offered Adela a small pouch of water. Adela hesitated for a moment, but she knew that refusing would be a breach of their customs. She took a cautious sip, and immediately felt her tongue grow heavy, regret washing over her.
"This might have been too potent for her," the oldest-looking woman among the three murmured.
"Don't worry, sister. The water may have had a stronger effect on you since you haven't consumed it before. But it's just a tradition, and all the guests partake in it."
The third woman gently held Adela's waist and guided her inside. "You've had the enchanted water; it's meant to seal the secrets within the tent."