"Let us walk," He says, needing the air. There would be more people in any tavern, after all and Solas is not sure enough of his surroundings to seek out the crowds.

The snow is falling in silent speckles, the light catching on it in motes of solemn brightness. Somewhere, not far, children chase and laugh. Behind them, the man at the food stall calls out to someone, bidding them come near and try his wares. It is a peaceful, lovely scene. Solas, consumed by thoughts of how to escape, does not appreciate it.

"How long have you been a guest of this place?" He asks, after a sufficient pause for politeness, "You seem to know it well enough."