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 . ❜
