fen ' harel ma ghilana.

[fadings]

[ the day finds itself still; it is the sort of silence that teeters on the brink of suffocating, foreboding, even against whatever wind or breeze might pass through the trees, hiss through the sands and stone. it has been so since the sky had been torn open. more than the sky, the veil thin and bleeding.

it sits in the hollow space of his throat as he casts his eyes upwards. the veil is paperthin around him, the faint song and echo of the fade, of the spirits.

he had wandered away from skyhold this day. not far, and with every intention of returning (there was much to draw him back. a working eluvian. the jagged, angry mark on the inquisitor's hand. a reminder, a mistake, and wild intentions. miscalculations and incomplete plans against not enough magic. they were closer to retrieving the orb. closer to where he needed to be...)

they could all be real, huh.

he settles on a rock, against the mountainous background to view the proud and ghostlike silhouette of skyhold against the green glow of the rift. a shadow of what it used to be; or perhaps an ambition of what it could become, has become.

the air is brisk and for a while, he is surrounded by silence against the brief wind. the veil is thin, he thinks again. the thought of sleep departs as soon as he hears another's footfalls not too far away. egg powers

when they are within distance: ] Ah - I did not hear your approach. [ he lies, politely, before angling around to view the other. ]