Nn mmmmmmm mmmm mmmm mmm-mm, [ Alistair counters brilliantly, from the edge of the Fade--but that's it. He's gone. He probably won't remember his dreams, but they're all his own. No darkspawn--minimal darkspawn, whose eyes he doesn't see through and whose hunt he doesn't join and who are easily beheaded and moved on from. Warm leather. A dog briefly lost and then found. Fingers on his wrist. (He twitches and hums but doesn't wake.) Cakes that are just out of reach, forever. Altogether the least unsettled sleep he's had in a very long time. ]
[ 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. ]