Seeker Reed has never met the boy-spirit Cole before. At least, he knows he hasn't, or perhaps he wasn't memorable enough to remember, given how very many people are here at Skyhold. More and more all the time. So long as the Inquisition keeps making appearances at the right places at the right times, they should hopefully keep a steady enough supply coming in, but he worries. Quietly, because it's not necessarily his place to worry about supplies, until the Advisors say otherwise.

Might be one of the reasons that, despite himself, he's in the kitchens. It's as much to make a quick inquiry about food and the like to keep those who don't fend for themselves fed as it is to hop in and help with the cooking, the cleaning, the prepping. He hasn't had as much time to do so lately as he's had in the past, but he still does try to make the time. And he isn't even one of the buggers who nips off with food like the kitchen is an open buffet. Despite injuries from the Winter Palace, his left arm all bandaged when he rolls up his sleeves for one thing, he moves easily and freely. He's had much worse, after all.

Nearly trips over a pale lad with a comically large hat. Had he always been there, lurking, or had Malcolm stopped paying attention for just a hair too long? "Watch yourself, or the cooks might chase you out with rotted fruit." It's happened before.