#chanticle

Thom moves the journal away from Thalia's gaze with an almost indignant gaze, attempting to obscure the page that is filled with various field notes and well, yes perhaps there was a sketch he'd been adding to.

Thalia at the campfire the first night he'd joined her. He thought he could do better with her eyes, but his artist tool of choice was not the pencil, but a woodcarving would not do justice to the warmth she'd exuded then.

"You're not allowed to see it yet." He sounds a bit like a child caught with his hand in the sweets jar, but he smiles at her instead of bowing his head away in shame before giving a nod to the extra chair beside him, "Could do with the company still, if you have a moment to spare me, Miss Darvas?"

"Uhhmmmm-" Bellara fiddles with a bronze cog in her fingers, tilting her head from side to side to side again before she looks over at Miriam. Several layers of magnifying lenses attached so she could carve intricate lettering into the metal.

"Honestly? Pretty okay, I mean at least no worse than usual." Bellara removes the lenses, tucking them aaway in their case before she removes her goggles that had been on for so long they've left an indent under her eyes and across her nose. She has to blink a few times to adjust in the difference in magnification before she grins at the other Watcher.

She inclines her head towards the other woman, giving a little gesture to the bench in the other part of the the room the Lighthouse had made for her.

"You don't look great. I mean! Well, you know, taking into account the past few weeks you've had, well it makes sense." Bellara stands, shuffling around her space to dig out of her backpack a little leather pouch that contains her secret stash of caramel. Hand-made. She sits down beside Miriam, holding out the candy in silent offer.

The Inquisitor blinks. Blinks again. It's a statement she did not expect to hear from someone who had taken responsibility of much of Skyhold's medicinal needs, reorganizing many of the empty rooms and ordering about craftsmen until the drafts were patched and the brick walls sealed — until rooms would hold heat and shelter the injured.

Neither could she begrudge the other woman the sentiment, however. Perhaps the biting part was... not what she expected, but the very idea of enacting violence against some people was... understandable, if nothing else.

dock town was never quiet; not even this late at night. fenris kept to the shadows, as much as he could - easier that way, because the whole of minrathous still had a bounty set on his head, and this particular part of the neighbourhood was further than he would have liked to be from a safehouse.

but the rumours were worth investigating. a dalish healer, somehow managing to make a life in dock town without worrying for their safety. helping those in need, that nobody else would. and he was not the only one who had heard the rumours. ❝ you needn't worry, ❞ he called, from afar. ❝ not from us, in any case. ❞

Eyes flick from the chasms below, turning to the human standing not too far away, then up to meet Cait's gaze. Yes, Sharrah's certain of that statement, if nothing else. It would not take someone as broad-shouldered as Alistair to carry her slight form — and there the human woman stood, easily as sturdy, and equally as infuriatingly easy on the eyes. "Mythal'enaste. It should not need to happen." The second thought springs unbidden, and is only bitten back by sheer force of will. There were easier ways to get close to her.

She holds her place steadily, until her cheeks warm, and then she looks away again, turning their current predicament around in her mind. Orzammar would not promise forces by the treaty's agreement until a king was crowned. And the kings were, for reasons beyond her ken, locked in what amounted to a rutting stalemate, even after a gladiator match by proxy.

It was stupid. Stupid, and not even something she could blame on humans this time around. The dwarves seem to be even more stubborn. Rockheaded, like the Stone that they listen to.

The mabari rolls on the ground between the two of them, tongue lolling out of its mouth in apparent delight. Whatever it'd found, Sharrah's certain the entire camp would be smelling it later. That doesn't stop the beast from being its own odd kind of endearing, despite the baying and howling being wrapped up in ... less pleasant memories.

It was a shemlen war hound. It knew to hunt and kill, and she has seen it firsthand ( yet, the kennelmaster had stated the dog, like its ilk, bonded intensely with few, apparently including her now ).

It apparently also knew how to grovel for extra rations and to get the attention of any of this ragtag group if it meant hands in its short fur.

"And then it'll drool everywhere." Face wrinkles up at the thought, though in an outdoors camp that was not so much a problem.

All of these facts have not stopped Sharrah from tentatively giving the dog a name to answer to. Something to bark back at it in a fight, to demand obedience when hesitation could cost a life.

So there, Falon wiggles about, kicking the air in the clear need for attention.

" You know, I think its incredibly romantic actually. " He had elected to sit down as close as possible to the warden this morning, hands raised as he talked, far too enthusiastic to be in any way honest, trying a little too hard to flatter. " Becoming a warden to avoid being put on trial for a crime that would surely see you hanged, vowing to fight darkspawn until the end of your life! I can just imagine the people of Redcliffe are going to speak about this incident for YEARS to come! "

Why so overly friendly today, Zev? Worried he will leave you behind now that he has learnt he is quite capable all by himself?

Rook Codex Prompts || Accepting || @chanticle

25. Notes taken by Rook when they were young/in training

Stabbing Not fast enough yet

Garrote Can't reach yet

Drowning no no no no no