@timestcpper sent / " It's going to be a clear night. The stars will be out soon. "
It's been a clear day, cloudless and sweltering - fitting, then, that the sunset seems to set the sky ablaze with fire. Time has started to feel different to Alistair as of late: when he sees the sunset his only thought is that it night that follows it will be fleeting, morning all too soon to come, and then they will be back on the road where for every town they pass the Blight will overtake another three.
He's sure her thoughts are much the same. He spends much of his time, lately, thinking about how she must be feeling in the wake of all this. Maybe that's why she points out the stars, instead. He's, as always, grateful above all that she's here. It's something reliable to fall back on - they are the only Wardens in the camp, and maybe in all of Ferelden, and so no one else understands so clearly what the other is feeling. When they are in need of levity, distraction, as opposed to when they instead can do nothing but mutually grieve and discuss in quiet voices the tentative shape of the future.
He plops down into the dirt with a weary and overly-dramatic sigh, squinting as he casts his gaze upwards with a thoughtful huh. "Oh, yeah, there's one now. The tail of the ass, I think. I mean, that's what we called it." He shoots her a grin - hard to say if he's making that up or not. And whether he is speaking of the other Wardens or perhaps younger Templar recruits or something from further still in his own past is hard to say. "Give it an hour or so. I'll show you the rest of the ass. I mean - I mean, the donkey. Mule. In the sky - it's the shape of the stars, is all I meant." He coughs, pink and quick to move to a new line of inquiry. "Uh, I don't suppose the Dalish make a hobby of finding asses in the sky, do they?"
