"Ah. Well we were all very busy during that time, weren't we?"
It's as gracious a response as she has in her. A fleeing refugee, a Grey Warden, and an imprisoned templar, all in the midst of a Blight, surely would have been very busy for any number of reasons. None of which are worth speaking of right now.
So. The golem.
"I'd heard about it...her," she quickly corrects. "Maker knows I never thought much of her as a child, outside of being a decorative sort of piece during the festival season." She pauses, brow furrowing. "I never did anything to her myself, outside of making flower crowns for her as a young girl. Branson, on the other hand...perhaps it's best to avoid a heartwarming reunion."
Alistair slowly turns his head--not with renewed interest, because he's been interested this whole time, but definitely more delighted interest.
"You made her flower crowns," he repeats. Whatever indignities Branson (whoever that is) visited on the golem pale, he... cares, probably, but not currently half as much as he cares about the image of Shale in a flower crown. "What color?"
His sudden interest prompts a laugh. How can it not?
"Oh goodness, if I can even remember...this was many years ago, you understand." But she does think back to those times, happier times. When Honnleath had been more than just a collection of nightmares and bad memories. When there had been life, simple but honest, and Rosalie had toddled out into the fields to help collect flowers only to wind up with most of them stuck in her own curly blonde hair.
"Blue, I think. There were flowers that grew in the mountain hills, Crystal Grace, and they made for such lovely garlands."
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
no subject
It's as gracious a response as she has in her. A fleeing refugee, a Grey Warden, and an imprisoned templar, all in the midst of a Blight, surely would have been very busy for any number of reasons. None of which are worth speaking of right now.
So. The golem.
"I'd heard about it...her," she quickly corrects. "Maker knows I never thought much of her as a child, outside of being a decorative sort of piece during the festival season." She pauses, brow furrowing. "I never did anything to her myself, outside of making flower crowns for her as a young girl. Branson, on the other hand...perhaps it's best to avoid a heartwarming reunion."
no subject
"You made her flower crowns," he repeats. Whatever indignities Branson (whoever that is) visited on the golem pale, he... cares, probably, but not currently half as much as he cares about the image of Shale in a flower crown. "What color?"
no subject
"Oh goodness, if I can even remember...this was many years ago, you understand." But she does think back to those times, happier times. When Honnleath had been more than just a collection of nightmares and bad memories. When there had been life, simple but honest, and Rosalie had toddled out into the fields to help collect flowers only to wind up with most of them stuck in her own curly blonde hair.
"Blue, I think. There were flowers that grew in the mountain hills, Crystal Grace, and they made for such lovely garlands."