Backscene :: No Rest for the Weary Who: Cormac Murrough, Falina Bjyr Where: The Merchant's Camp; Orzammar; the evening of dorf party of awesome When: 9:45 Dragon; Eluviesta Summary: Cormac doesn't like slumber parties. Rating: PG - for swearing so mild if you squinted you'd miss it. Status: Complete
It had been a busy day for everyone. The moon was high in the clear mountain sky by the time they had all drifted apart, Cormac and Falina trudging to the small canvas tent he had rented as the conversation died down, all of them too tired and cold to linger any longer. The shelter was small, weather-stained white canvas stretched between sturdy poles, but it kept the wind out and the heat in and for that Cormac was glad. He ducked in with a small sigh of relief, holding the flap open for Falina and Shartan to follow. The subtle scent of roasted nug still lingered in the air from the nug merchant's nearby stall, overpowering the faint dusty smell of mildew that permeated the small space. The heavy fabric of the walls let little light in, and so Cormac propped the doorway open until they were able to get their beds arranged for the night.
There was a narrow cot alongside one wall of the tent that Falina could have, and plenty of space on the ground for him. As long as there was a blanket between himself and the ground he'd hardly even notice the chill of the hard-packed earth. He dug in his pack a few moments, pulling out a few blankets with a quizzical glance at the quiet young dwarf. He hadn't known her all that long, just shy of a day, and yet her silence seemed...unusual. Until recently, Cormac had struggled to get a few moments of silence strung together around her, and here she was, practically mute. It was almost unsettling.
He shook a thick woolen blanket out over the cot and another on the ground for himself and Shartan before turning to look at her, his brows drawn together in a frown at her continued quiet. She was huddled inside the heavy cloak he had gotten her, a few dark strands of hair hanging loosely around her small face as she stared down at her feet, lost in her own thoughts.
"The cot's yours," he finally broke in a moment later, shaking his head in bemusement. "Damn things are too flimsy anyways, I'm always afraid I'll break them." He moved towards the open door flap, waiting for her to clamber up on the cot before he closed it and blocked most of the light out altogether. With a small sigh Cormac crawled under his own heavy covers, Shartan wiggling in beside him. Slowly he began to warm up, and the stresses of a long day began to seep out into the cool ground, leaving him exhausted but sleep seemed to dance just beyond his reach.
He'd told Falina to go with the Grey Wardens, and she had agreed, but she had hardly seemed happy about it. He lay in the dark, listening to the mingled sounds of her and Shartan's breathing on each side of the tent, and hoped to the Maker he'd told her the right thing. Cormac trusted the Wardens, and figured Falina would be hard pressed to find a better option on the surface. He just hoped she didn't think he was dumping her off on the most convenient person.
With a small growl he rolled himself tighter into his blanket, earning an annoyed snuffle from Shartan. Since when had he cared what a young girl thought of him? Since she started reminding you of a certain boy, dumped in Redcliffe twenty years ago, alone and reeling, was the answer that drifted across his thoughts, and he snarled at it. She wasn't his problem any longer. He narrowed his eyes at her dim form, the vague outline just visible in the dim tent interior, before closing them and trying to sleep again.