fade rift. inbox.

[dissono]

for private scenes and correspondence.
non-urgent crystal messages will be responded to by letter at his earliest convenience.

Comments

[dissono]

A lot of things are new to him, out of the circles. In the world. Back in the company of other people. Pursuing a relationship that's more than a rushed fumble the Templars were never as blind to as all that. It's within him to give this much, when he can see how needful—

He thinks he might be no more equipped to speak on it further if he were better equipped to speak at all.

Least of all on his dreams.

It's a blindly done thing, how he reaches out abruptly to press her knee with his hand—a warm weight, curving familiar, intended reassurance. Reassurance because the next thing he does when he releases that grip is press his knees, urge his horse forward, riding ahead.

The road is scattered enough with Inquisition agents that he doesn't need to go far to be alone, and still surrounded.

[limier]

A moment's hesitation, the odd stutter of motion that presses her up and ready for pursuit, and —

Right. She settles back in, grinds teeth against lip to ignore the irritated snort of the creature beneath her. Brushes fingers against its shorn mane. The spine of new stubble before hands, heat.

Don't leave, and the space between request and command is the chance to. Leave, but come back.