Nothing, it is nothing, and he puts it from his mind like nothing. It is a stone. A thing. He should be comforted that he yet lives, that everyone that was so foolish as to come fetch him was not harmed terribly, that a few of the crows yet live and now might have a chance to learn that which he was taught during the blight. Eventually he will need to face them. Present the choice but-
He needs to be what they fear, then. The Ombra Nera. Right now he is having a difficult enough time being himself; though every story, every touch brings him back into his skin. Fate is nothing if not an anchor, a solid diversion for how he settles in his bones. It hurts; but that helps more than hinders.
Without the runestone he settles for a button he'd picked off his shirt, rolling it over his knuckles. The first few passes are clumsy but, eventually? He manages it.
At least until a crackle of laughter jars his hand, Zevran snorting into Fate's shoulder as they lean and sit. "I am sensing a pattern to your cons, my friend. You are not so careless as you would have others think."
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He needs to be what they fear, then. The Ombra Nera. Right now he is having a difficult enough time being himself; though every story, every touch brings him back into his skin. Fate is nothing if not an anchor, a solid diversion for how he settles in his bones. It hurts; but that helps more than hinders.
Without the runestone he settles for a button he'd picked off his shirt, rolling it over his knuckles. The first few passes are clumsy but, eventually? He manages it.
At least until a crackle of laughter jars his hand, Zevran snorting into Fate's shoulder as they lean and sit. "I am sensing a pattern to your cons, my friend. You are not so careless as you would have others think."