The gesture's just visible out the corner of Myr's eye and he looks over again to take note of the pendant. (How strange to remember you could miss things on first look but they'd been there all along, unobserved; not like dreams, where something didn't exist for the eye to perceive until you thought of it and so everything beneath current notice was sketched-in, vague, assumed.) Its shape pulls at the familiar--the wings, the sword--and he can't help but be reminded of the Sword of Mercy and all it's come to stand for.

Pray Sarenrae's paladins have as well as the best of the Maker's champions; though from all he's heard, they have.

"A knight for your god, then." His tone is unabashed, admiring. "Instead of a noble patron or--your Chantry, if you've anything like one." Better than what a knight-enchanter or templar could boast, truer, and for a moment he's envious though it's a clean sort of envy; the kind that desires what another has without wanting it wrenched away from her.

Though whatever he willed, it may have already happened. "Adalia said She spoke to you, from time to time--that you knew Her as you knew anyone else." A careful pause, weighted and worried.

"Does She still?" Would the Maker recognize a spirit wearing Myr's face as one of His children, if he appeared somewhere other than Thedas? Would He care?