VII. CLOSED.

[glandival]

WHO: Alistair and Sabine
WHAT: Puppy killing in disgrace.
WHEN: At a point in Kingsway.
WHERE: Orlesian wilds!!!
NOTES: No actual killing of puppies, probably.

[ They'd asked her where she got such a handsome wolf-skin cloak, and she'd told them the truth; that she slew one, mad with red lyrium, in Emprise du Lion. That's how they wind up here.

In woodlands turning golden with the changing of the season. Dry leaves crackle underfoot. There aren't any spikes of red lyrium pushing out from the earth, nor are there any rifts that haven't already been closed, but the presence of overly aggressive, Fade-touched wolves have been reported by numerous travellers. Sabine had taken the task for promise of gold, and she might have even mentioned this reward to Alistair when she recruited his help.

It's becoming cooler as the afternoon begins its retirement. Her cloak staves it off, wearing light leathers beneath, and while she is cautious, and attempting to track the signs of the forest around her, she isn't moving in the way she would if she were hunting prey animals. Likely, there's little point in trying to sneak up on a wolf.

Eventually, Alistair will hear; ]

Alistair.

[ --in such an understated and quiet voice that it's probably like that for a reason.

And he will see her belly down on the forest floor, peering into the open hollow of a fallen log. Without waiting for him to look too or lend advice, she is reaching a gloved hand inside, and when she pulls it back out, she has a fistful of the scruff of a squirming wolf puppy, one that squeaks weakly, dangling and feeble. ]

Comments

[byblow]

[ The tug snaps him out of paralysis — his silent stare into the fire, hands unmoving on his knees, frozen by how much he would like to not be frozen and instead be the sort of person to whom these things come easily. Not the sort of person who feels like his head might explode if he says anything and will also definitely explode if he doesn't. He should go to bed. He should invite her along in a way both cool and entirely without pressure. He is going to open his mouth any minute now and say something embarrassing and earnest, or else—

Or else. Sabine tugs the bracelet on his wrist and he looks down at it, very briefly shocked that he even has a wrist, where did that come from, before he's likewise tugged out of his trance.

Alistair lifts up with his feet and untugged hand and moves over, angled so she can have the hand she beckoned, if she wants it. And the attached forearm. And the shoulder. But she can't have the bracelet. He says as much: ]

You can't have it back. [ A beat, and he recycles an explanation he's used before. ] It makes me feel pretty.

[glandival]

It does you some improvement.

[ --because a good way to make clear your interests is to insult someone's looks, however sardonic, but Sabine doesn't quite reflect on this as she considers the bracelet before finally his face. How had she described it, to Zevran? That a human man, a shemlen, were wolves to her. Things to be hunted, or be hunted by, or to hide from. That to be attracted to one was the same as being attracted to a suit of armour, with only emptiness within.

The grip on the bracelet transitions into a gentle circled hold around his wrist. Hand claimed, she brings it up to nudge his palm against her bare throat, up along the side. Not her face, or somewhere even more forward, but where her heart strikes cords strong enough to thrum gently at her pulse.

Her hand smooths over his knuckles to both lay his hand flat and also relinquish dominion over hands back to him. ]

You may keep it, [ she decides. ]

[byblow]

Thank-- [ Alistair begins, and stops, because he'd meant to sound smart-arsed and affected, but he can hear that it isn't coming out that way at all. Instead it is going to sound sincerely grateful. Thank you for the bracelet. Thank you for having skin and letting me touch your neck. Thank you for not throwing me in the fire, yet.

But it's too late. He gives up and lets it happen, with an added sheepish smile. ] Thank you.

[ She's brought them this far. He could let her take them the rest of the way. And then throw himself in the fire. He moves his thumb to her jawline and his face close enough to touch. Noses first. There's time and space to turn away or bite him in self-defense. ]