[The most put-upon sigh escapes in the fashion of the 'I'm not a kid now why aren't you listening to me' as they hit those diffcult almost teen years. This should terrify you Alistair he's not a sweet baby boy anymore he's going to have to learn to shave at some point teach him the fashionable stubble. At least Sundermount is quiet enough, just those ominous crickets, the wind, a few ravens that come out here to hang.]

If I told you something, would you not tell mother? She's...busy. And worried. And I don't want her to know. It's not-- It was a nightmare. Just a nightmare.

[At least he sounds embarrassed? Too old to be having nightmare etc.

Her birthday is the last day of Harvestmere Alistair do you think Flemeth would plan it any other way not that anyone even knows these things, Morrigan was fashioned from the Wilds mud, a little blood, feathers, stones, that sort of thing. You know those crazy swamp rituals.]