Marcus surrenders his hand easily and without protest, accepting the gesture for what it is. Being around his partners, in Thedas, he'd always felt the most liberal of them with touch and affection in mixed settings, coaxing them into the same; here, in this place, he feels as stiffly formal as a Chantry brother in comparison. But his hand loosens, relaxes, clasps hers back.
Spirit, he thinks, caught between dismissing this thought and holding onto it, as a reminder. But her hand is perfectly human feeling, warm from work and bloodflow, soft and firm. Perhaps she is no more a spirit or Fade-formed thing than Jude Adjei. Or Petrana de Cedoux.
Doesn't matter, not when his muscles still twinge from the forced shifting earlier. It's all real enough.
"I don't know how long we're here for," he says, searching her face. Vague enough. They know they come from another world, and it stands to reason they'll return to it. "But I want to know more of this place before we leave it. It'd be useful, for the world I come from."
He believes that's so, anyway, whether in some broad and important sense or simply as his own knowledge to take back with him, and protect.
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Spirit, he thinks, caught between dismissing this thought and holding onto it, as a reminder. But her hand is perfectly human feeling, warm from work and bloodflow, soft and firm. Perhaps she is no more a spirit or Fade-formed thing than Jude Adjei. Or Petrana de Cedoux.
Doesn't matter, not when his muscles still twinge from the forced shifting earlier. It's all real enough.
"I don't know how long we're here for," he says, searching her face. Vague enough. They know they come from another world, and it stands to reason they'll return to it. "But I want to know more of this place before we leave it. It'd be useful, for the world I come from."
He believes that's so, anyway, whether in some broad and important sense or simply as his own knowledge to take back with him, and protect.