The moon stared sightless, mighty and full above their small camp. The wind was quiet over the dunes and in the desert no birds or snuffling animals made their presence known. They had made a place upon great heights, a decaying stone wall concealed them from three sides. The stone children were once in strength in this place, and as every where, Elvhenan touched here too.
It was called ‘Sunstop’ by the dwarves and the huge mountains made move to the will of the ancient people of the stone. Solas half remembered this place too, when the names were different. The tomb of Paragon Fairel was built – like most things in Thedas – upon the ruins of another. It was revered, hallowed; the name, like the memory, is blurred to his curious eye. It was the first place of uthenera and deep in the dried up jungles lay now only bleached white dust to mark where opulent stone & crystalline tombs once stood
So much was taken when the Veil was sundered. From the masses, from him – no great power is without greater still sacrifice. The deepest of sleeps eluded him in these present times, though he found its loss not as keen as it had once been. It was her influence, Eyual, the Inquisitor who had slowly begun to change his priorities. Perhaps it was a feeling he should abhor or lament, but he did not.
She was alone, a stark pallor cast deep shadows on a weary lined face. A reddish hue crested along her bony fingers as she worked clay into idle shapes. Were it another time, it would speak in tiny whispers, telling of the feet that once passed by without paying tribute or notice. Stone and dirt were true gossips, the smallest of kings and queens who knew the true nature of the earth itself.
He approached cautious, as always, lest he be cast into stone as the aged statues that surrounded the small camp. Others milled around their tents, prepared for a – hopefully – restful and quiet sleep. He would find none, as he knew, for dreams do not dare tread where the spirits clamor for peace that shall not come.
She murmured, pressing lips tight and thin. Small words that the Dalish clung to, sentences and songs he knew in full. Should he tell her of them, he wondered? Would the heathen waif deign to care? Chances were slim but this night seemed an opportunity and the wolf within was daring more and more as days passed and the sky still bled.
“May I sit?” He does so without waiting for an answer, graceful and fluid he moved his own hands into the damp earth.
