[ Sabine could almost nap like this, but attempts to try are interrupted when a wheel hits a stone or a dip in the dusty terrain, jostling her awake. By the time Alistair joins her, she's resigned for wakefulness, bored of the monotonous desert view and instead fidgeting with a length of skinny leather and unpainted wooden beads. They clack together as she threads them.
Her hands pause as he settles, and she obliges him to squint up at the sky. She makes a sound, thoughtful, enlightened. ]
In Orlais, [ she says, leaning in as if in conspiracy and pointing upwards in a different direction, at the brightest point of the sky ] we have the sun. You see it every day, instead of as a rumour. It is for warming, you know.
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Her hands pause as he settles, and she obliges him to squint up at the sky. She makes a sound, thoughtful, enlightened. ]
In Orlais, [ she says, leaning in as if in conspiracy and pointing upwards in a different direction, at the brightest point of the sky ] we have the sun. You see it every day, instead of as a rumour. It is for warming, you know.