Felassan listens to this without moving, one long ear angled in Solas' direction, his friend at the edge of his vision and the rest filled with treetops and the sky. He doesn't say, what a shame there was no one for you to workshop that plan with, because that's the thing, isn't it? There was a plan before it. A solid one, he'd say, after thousands of years of consideration before it could even be put into motion. Step seventy-nine: secure the eluvians. He ruined that one himself.

He's not quite sorry. But he's not going to bully Solas about this specific thing. Not today. Maybe tomorrow.

Solas' tone, on the other hand. The pride in it. Impressive feat, about a mortal woman whom the Solas Felassan last spoke to would have called a sleepwalker, a shadow. And touch of something more in his voice, in the fervency of the respect, that Felassan has heard from him before.

For that he turns to look at Solas head-on again, eyebrows raised.

"Was it now?"