[ He doesn't stir, besides that one last twitch. Sabine smirks a little, to herself, and allows herself to relax as the wagon rolls over rough ground and the sun persists, eternally, in the clear sky. Maybe he drools on her, maybe he doesn't, but she remains, for the most part, a sturdy leaning post.
And has some experience in the ways of sneaking away from sleeping men that when Alistair does wake, he's been pushed aside and gently onto whatever burlap wrapped cargo the wagon is intended for.
No elf in sight, but he's gained a new bracelet, a crick in the neck, and a handsome mustache drawn on with a piece of charcoal. ]
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And has some experience in the ways of sneaking away from sleeping men that when Alistair does wake, he's been pushed aside and gently onto whatever burlap wrapped cargo the wagon is intended for.
No elf in sight, but he's gained a new bracelet, a crick in the neck, and a handsome mustache drawn on with a piece of charcoal. ]