Hearing someone else say the…name… brings back memories, and the puckered scars around her lips, still nearly fresh, barely finished closing up, sting violently. She’s not sure she likes hearing the name. But not all truth is happiness.
Sataareth Saarebas watches the Templar pass the bundle to Cora. It takes a few seconds to register that those are, in fact, clothes meant for her. Would she have to wear a dress, like the rest of these mages? She glances down at her mud-stained shoes and pants, rips patched and sewn over and over again, the colors faded from a long year under the sun and in the storms.
Perhaps replacing these rags would be best.
She nods sullenly to Cora’s suggestion, as if she has a choice. “This room is… mine?” she asks.
A fantasy of never leaving, of locking herself inside and sitting in silence until she sees what Ashkaari Koslun saw in the desert unfolds in her mind, even as her stomach rumbles. She scowls down at it through the blankets at the traitor.
Cora normally requires apprentices to share rooms, allowing them to split off into double or single rooms once they’ve passed their Harrowings. It helps with the loneliness and homesickness that comes from being dragged away from family and home. She’s made few exceptions over the years, and usually only for conflicting personalities that couldn’t be settled through other means.
She’s hesitant to separate Saarebas even more. Rumors of a qunari apprentice have undoubtedly already begun to spread, and assigning her her own room wouldn’t do much to help her with adjusting or finding friends. But perhaps forcing the socialization wouldn’t help either.
Nodding, Cora makes her decision. “Yes. The room will be yours.” They have the space, and Cora’s first priority is getting Saarebas to trust her (and giving the girl a decent meal). Maybe then they can work on the rest.
