“Shh,” Alistair says, this time shorter and more insistent, but whatever thread of understanding he believes he’s on the verge of grasping slithers through his metaphorical fingers and out of metaphorical sight. His next exhale is more of a sigh. He sits down without paying attention to where, really—what’s a Loghain?—and looks back down at the scribbled notes in his hands. “What is it?”
no subject