[Her hm is a low, meandering thing over the soft rasp of faintly shifting clothes and blankets as the dark mane of her hair passes through her fingers and is rebound.]
Good, [is her eventual assessment. The candle is extinguished, pitching the room (which has no windows; Kirkwall is dreadful) into perfect darkness.] I know of a place with excellent bacon.
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Good, [is her eventual assessment. The candle is extinguished, pitching the room (which has no windows; Kirkwall is dreadful) into perfect darkness.] I know of a place with excellent bacon.