He squeezed his eyes tight, momentarily blocking out the twisted mess of the Wilds and the peripheral view he had of the old woman’s dilapidated hut. That ache told him that despite his attempt at bravado, he wasn’t lying injured on the top of the Tower of Ishal. If only it would similarly numb that twisting ache in his stomach. The ground was cold, and that cold was slowly seeping through the leather of his trousers to numb him from the waist down. Takes more than a few darkspawn to kill me, Duncan.Īlistair’s head drooped forward and he hugged his knees closer to his chest. Any day now he would open his eyes and grin at Duncan’s worried expression. They would sit around and tell stories and stuff their faces and be a family, because they were his family, the only family that – sans Duncan – didn’t know about the stupid prince thing. He would be up and about and traveling with his comrades any day now, making jokes that made Duncan groan and roll his eyes.
Apostates, and, he suspected, a possible blood mage.
The ogre had beat him up good and bashed his head into the stone, leaving him to dream up these two days of sitting in this damn cold forest with only mages for company.
