"You're very modest," said Ordhan, grinning, "but luck could only go so far. It can't teach you to hold a bow steady, or to not run away." The smile faded. "They must be common where you are from." An image of the Anderfels, vague but slowly sharpening, was growing in his mind. Snowclad mountains surrounding the great fortress at Weisshaupt, home to golden-haired giants with bright eyes and ready smiles, but surrounded with such danger that even the children slay monsters and go on to laugh about it as if the deed was nothing. The thought was almost enough to make him smile; it was as if it had sprung from the grandest, most outlandish song of legend. If not for Hilda sitting before him, he would have reason to doubt its truth.
Ordhan listened intently when she continued, taking careful note of her brothers' names. In his eyes speaking of one's family was a sign of trust that should not be betrayed by inattention. It was obvious that they meant a great deal to her.
The news of her brother's quest was curious. The Chantry had always been simply something that was there, a part of life taken for granted. He was devoted enough, neither resenting nor ignoring religion, but the thought of going so far for its sake was strange to him. "Did he find it?" he asked carefully, wary of the fine line between interest and nosiness.