[They've traded places. Figuratively, that is. Their position in the saddle hasn't changed, and Astarion's no more certain in his body language or intonation than before: still a hunkered thing throughout his shoulders, sunken lower than the measuremark of Fenris' leather pauldrons, battered and tattered and disheveled to a fault aside from all the places Fenris washed.
But he's present.
Theres no droning in his ears, and the shock he feels in passing is a far more acute thing compared to what stays itself under his fingers. To the way his companion has drawn back— and, if Astarion's own blind assumption stands true based on countless times spent flat against stone walls— much farther away than before.]
....wh— no, the—
What?
A sundown ban? On elves? [Is there something that he's missing here?] 'Knife ear?'
....is this to do with that rebellion you mentioned?
no subject
But he's present.
Theres no droning in his ears, and the shock he feels in passing is a far more acute thing compared to what stays itself under his fingers. To the way his companion has drawn back— and, if Astarion's own blind assumption stands true based on countless times spent flat against stone walls— much farther away than before.]
....wh— no, the—
What?
A sundown ban? On elves? [Is there something that he's missing here?] 'Knife ear?'
....is this to do with that rebellion you mentioned?