[ Fenris gazes at the poorly-hidden wounds with a sluggish eye. Speaking with someone is... odd now. It feels as though he's awoken from a long sleep, disoriented and sore. The gentle command and the little vibration of magic in his skin make him offer Anders his hand with the instinctive ease of a slave, the only sign of how much he hates himself for it the haphazard twitch of his fingers when their skin makes contact at last. ]
Is this what you want?
[ A soft question. Very nearly conversational. Where was Justice now? In this.
Where was Hawke? ]
It has been two years, I think.
[ He doesn't know why he's offering this information. Just to talk, perhaps. He watches Anders work in the dying light, even ignoring a rat scurrying in the far corner that might otherwise have been supper. ]
no subject
Is this what you want?
[ A soft question. Very nearly conversational. Where was Justice now? In this.
Where was Hawke? ]
It has been two years, I think.
[ He doesn't know why he's offering this information. Just to talk, perhaps. He watches Anders work in the dying light, even ignoring a rat scurrying in the far corner that might otherwise have been supper. ]