The pestle made fast work of the herbs under Masina's firm mashing. Before long there was a fine powder in the mortar.<br/><br/>Mohini's protestations were rewarded with a smirk and not much more. The clay drinking bowl was filled to half with wine from Masina's own skin and the powder poured in. She used a finger to stir the mixture which was, she thought, probably a bit thick. No matter, if a little is good, a lot is better, to Masina's way of thinking.<br/><br/>She lifted the bowl and leaned over to Mohini. Her other hand held the brass funnel.<br/><br/><strong>"Open."</strong>Masina said.<br/><br/>