Every bump, every jolt, he'd felt them all in the cart when they'd bundled him into it. When they'd tried to strike a balance between making good time and jostling him too much. The salt air of Gwaren, the damp of the Hinterlands, the bitter chill of the mountain climb, all of it and Asher sweating through his furs trying not to scratch his skin clean off.
"That's what they're there for with us. It's why you're mindful, watching the signs. Saying your prayers and leaving the right offerings. I need to get that sorted once I'm on my feet." He has an idea of what it is, that he was reluctant, that he dragged his feet, that he left; he's back now, he's here, he's going to do right by what he said he would but it's a reminder and a hard one. Or maybe this is a reminder anyway that he's been fighting a long time now, that not all things last. Asher's not usually given to such thoughts but there's a strange feeling being a tent with spirits so close that he can imagine the augur looming over him, opening his mouth to let them speak with his voice.
He'd say something about their spirits matching them well, or about how he saw his youngest sister, tall and slender with hair of gold, fierce and brave but so gentle where Asher isn't, soothing all the rough raw edges that he has but he blinks away the sudden tears and blames it on the sweat as the fever breaks again.
"Look at you going native Christine," he teases. "Aye, I'll take you. Guests are welcome especially if you come with me. Our augurs would let the spirits greet you, and you could both meet the young mages, and our crafters. The augurs keep the lore too and our lore is so old. We aren't the Dalish. We never lost our homes. We kept it. We've kept so much."
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"That's what they're there for with us. It's why you're mindful, watching the signs. Saying your prayers and leaving the right offerings. I need to get that sorted once I'm on my feet." He has an idea of what it is, that he was reluctant, that he dragged his feet, that he left; he's back now, he's here, he's going to do right by what he said he would but it's a reminder and a hard one. Or maybe this is a reminder anyway that he's been fighting a long time now, that not all things last. Asher's not usually given to such thoughts but there's a strange feeling being a tent with spirits so close that he can imagine the augur looming over him, opening his mouth to let them speak with his voice.
He'd say something about their spirits matching them well, or about how he saw his youngest sister, tall and slender with hair of gold, fierce and brave but so gentle where Asher isn't, soothing all the rough raw edges that he has but he blinks away the sudden tears and blames it on the sweat as the fever breaks again.
"Look at you going native Christine," he teases. "Aye, I'll take you. Guests are welcome especially if you come with me. Our augurs would let the spirits greet you, and you could both meet the young mages, and our crafters. The augurs keep the lore too and our lore is so old. We aren't the Dalish. We never lost our homes. We kept it. We've kept so much."