The bite of the liquor was welcome, the heat in her empty gut smoldering pleasantly. Despite how hollow it made her feel, these sensations were familiar, reminiscent of better times spent not alone but, usually, in good company. Usually. However there was not much contained within this humble flask, certainly not enough to sate the mage’s unending thirst and she ultimately chose to flick the metal lid back into place before her unclawed fingers twisted it tight. Best to save it now, drink it later… When the nights got too lonely or her thoughts too heavy.
It was then her sapphire gaze fell upon a figure, quick to approach though it was likely they had not yet spied the wanted woman. To move now, away from his path would likely draw his eye and therefore his suspicion… To sit in place meant that he might see it fit to approach, to converse with her and this would possibly lead him to the discovery of her identity.
If he even cared… From what Marian had managed to gather from the crowds she parted, the general populace did not concern themselves with those of notable repute, but simply if one was a mage… or a Templar… Or was it simply surviving that they cared for? It was difficult to say, considering the turmoil that Marian found thriving in Ferelden. Turmoil she had inadvertently assisted in causing.
Marian did not move, simply pulled her cloak more tightly around her form and her hood further over her eyes. Parthalan was claimed from its resting place against the fence beside her and she found herself grateful for the thick swath of wrappings around it…. It would no doubt be recognized.
Would he stop? Or would he continue by in silence? It was these two questions that bubbled over and over themselves within her skull as the figure, distinguishable as a man with a heavy cloak not unlike her own, laid his eyes upon her and drew ever near.