Councilor, and not First Enchanter. They've ditched traditional terms. Anders finds that promising, though he selfishly finds the warm tent even more so. He sits quickly and holds his hands out toward the brazier until they're filled and warmed by a mug instead. Next time he ran, he needed to acquire a tent. Somehow. But that was a concern for another time because she was asking him a question.

The Councilor gets a weak half-smile. She's so much closer to the truth than she knows, with the spite comment, but he can't exactly say that. "I caught a rabbit a few days back, at least. So water, spite, and rabbit. It's not exactly safe to get sleep out there. And where it is, there are injured people."

She can feel what he is, or some of it. And with the way she'd so quickly ushered him here without even asking after name or background, he has a hunch she's made plenty of detours of her own when it comes to helping those who are hurt.

"But now I can add tea to that." He holds up the mug in a sort of thanks and toast before taking a sip. It's heavenly, being warmed outside and in and not having to worry about a campfire drawing Templars to a lone mage out in the wilderness. Again the all-too-dangerous threat of hope rears its head, but at least he can't put any stock into it this time. He won't be welcome here long. He can't get used to being warm again, especially when he doesn't deserve it.