Solas manages all of three steps in the door, and finds himself unable to continue. It is not possible— should not be possible. Except that there, like a shadow cast from his own memory, stands a living testament to that memory itself. There is a drink in his hand, and he is in the act of throwing back his hood; were Solas to avoid him, now would be the time to act.
But he cannot. He simply stares, feeling a vague, troublesome hysteria bubbling up behind his breastbone. Of course, of course the masters of this place would choose him, of all people.
Who better, indeed, of all people, than Felassan, the Dread Wolf's own slow arrow?
In a moment more, he will be seen, staring, and Solas considers very seriously the option to simply turn on his heel and be gone. And then he inhales, firms his jaw, and steps out towards the opposite wall, where his friend, his brother, his enemy leans waiting. There is no going back.
"I expect you will have some questions," He says, when he is close enough for a modicum of privacy, "Much has happened in your absence."
Which is about as good an understatement as he can manage.
Hello!!!!!!!
But he cannot. He simply stares, feeling a vague, troublesome hysteria bubbling up behind his breastbone. Of course, of course the masters of this place would choose him, of all people.
Who better, indeed, of all people, than Felassan, the Dread Wolf's own slow arrow?
In a moment more, he will be seen, staring, and Solas considers very seriously the option to simply turn on his heel and be gone. And then he inhales, firms his jaw, and steps out towards the opposite wall, where his friend, his brother, his enemy leans waiting. There is no going back.
"I expect you will have some questions," He says, when he is close enough for a modicum of privacy, "Much has happened in your absence."
Which is about as good an understatement as he can manage.