“He seems forgiving. Or at least tolerant, if easily disappointed.”

Maybe Oghma could stand to take on a more practical perspective with regard to some matters, he means, without elaborating. Instead he draws a bottle out of his bag, and offers it to her first. It’s wine. Cheap. The cork is loose, easily twisted free.

If they were on earth it would be in a box.

“I like the Qunari,” he says. “The horns are interesting. I wasn’t a human myself until very recently.”