It runs exactly parallel to Myr's thoughts on the matter. Maker in Your mercy, Andraste in Your grace, let it not be one of the lost.
He reaches to brush his fingers Sina's hand on his arm--in reassurance, in empathy, in a moment's need for contact. It could be anything; this is Lowtown, a part of him wants to say, but he knows with a certain dread it's not anything. The world's hardly so kind.
"We've got a chance to save one, at least," if it is so bad as they fear. "We got here in time."
Don't think of how faint that cry was. Don't think of how high and childlike it was. Get back soon, Kit. Have a way for them into that warehouse.
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He reaches to brush his fingers Sina's hand on his arm--in reassurance, in empathy, in a moment's need for contact. It could be anything; this is Lowtown, a part of him wants to say, but he knows with a certain dread it's not anything. The world's hardly so kind.
"We've got a chance to save one, at least," if it is so bad as they fear. "We got here in time."
Don't think of how faint that cry was. Don't think of how high and childlike it was. Get back soon, Kit. Have a way for them into that warehouse.