carver .

     carver blinks at sound of metal grazing the table’s rich finish. it’s usually him passing about scoops of stew, or mash, or whatever his company’s lucky enough to have on hand, but his comrades are in short supply this side of the frostbacks, and in light of recent events, he supposes that can only be for the best.

   ❛ — thank you. i should be honored the inquisitor’s taken a personal interest in my supper, ❜ he says, an uptick of levity to his mouth. the plate is appealing, of course, and smells vibrant, though most things do when one’s used to hard biscuits on the road. carver lifts a spoon, clinks it against the metal lip once, and finds his appetite wane in favor of conversation. stare anchored amidst the meal, he opts instead for a different venture, starting, ❛ i . . . hear your forces leave for adamant soon enough. ❜ 

sharp   elven   features   are   almost   blank ,   save   a   gentle   crease   in   her   brow ,   a   dismissive   wave   of   her   hand .        ❛   they   make   me   too   much .   ❜        &   such   an   odd   thing   it   is !   not   a  hand   in   the   hunt ,   the   preparation ,   the   serving .   &   always ,   it   makes   an   ugly   twist   of   homesickness  curl   in   the   pit   of   her   belly .   but   she  doesn’t   focus   on   that   for   very   long .   instead   she   gives   a   single   nod .

❛   as   soon   as   they   are   prepared   &   organized .    it’s   a   long   trip   from   here   to   there .   probably   even   longer   with   so   many   people .   ❜        the   crinkle   of   her   brow   deepens   just   so   &   she   fixes   him   with   a   look ;   assessing ,   considering .   he   had   made   a   statement ,   but   she   hears   a   question ,   sitting   unsaid   in   the   air .       ❛   i   understand   you   must   be …   concerned   for   your   fellow   wardens .   &   for   hawke .   ❜