Evelyn had reassured him the Bull was healing, of course, that the man was mostly intact. The injuries the Bull sustained after the fall would take some time to heal, which meant allowing the Bull to rest and recuperate in Skyhold. Somehow, though, Dorian had the feeling that "rest and recuperate" for the Bull didn't mean lying supine in bed with his leg propped up, staying off his feet as much as necessary.
And sure enough, there are the Chargers practicing on the training grounds, going through forms or sparring or wrestling in the mud or whatever it is they do – and there stands the Bull.
Stubborn oaf of a man, Dorian thinks; he doesn't realize how fond the words sound in his own head. Damned fool. It hasn't been that long since they all returned from the Storm Coast. Dorian may not consider himself a healer – he lacked the appropriate temperament for it – but he's almost certain the Bull ought to be sitting.
The Bull seems to scan the courtyard without seeing him, which is likely just as well – Dorian has to force the look of disapproval from his face with a slow breath; instead, he schools his expression into something lightly amused. To one side, Rocky storms past him – too distracted to notice Dorian's presence, as well. Odd, Dorian thinks, though perhaps not too odd; the two of them were mere acquaintances at best, and Rocky certainly seemed agitated enough to not notice a bear until it was mere inches from him.
Dorian approaches the Chargers, sweeping over the scene. The Chargers are busy with their training, of course, and the Bull is standing to one side, apparently ignoring the presence of the crate and cane sitting blithely to one side. He wonders, briefly, if he's merely imagining the strange tension in the air.
The Bull must certainly be distracted, Dorian thinks as he scoops up the cane from its place atop the crate. He tests its weight in both hands.
"Rocky seems in quite a state," Dorian says, in lieu of a more conventional greeting.
no subject
And sure enough, there are the Chargers practicing on the training grounds, going through forms or sparring or wrestling in the mud or whatever it is they do – and there stands the Bull.
Stubborn oaf of a man, Dorian thinks; he doesn't realize how fond the words sound in his own head. Damned fool. It hasn't been that long since they all returned from the Storm Coast. Dorian may not consider himself a healer – he lacked the appropriate temperament for it – but he's almost certain the Bull ought to be sitting.
The Bull seems to scan the courtyard without seeing him, which is likely just as well – Dorian has to force the look of disapproval from his face with a slow breath; instead, he schools his expression into something lightly amused. To one side, Rocky storms past him – too distracted to notice Dorian's presence, as well. Odd, Dorian thinks, though perhaps not too odd; the two of them were mere acquaintances at best, and Rocky certainly seemed agitated enough to not notice a bear until it was mere inches from him.
Dorian approaches the Chargers, sweeping over the scene. The Chargers are busy with their training, of course, and the Bull is standing to one side, apparently ignoring the presence of the crate and cane sitting blithely to one side. He wonders, briefly, if he's merely imagining the strange tension in the air.
The Bull must certainly be distracted, Dorian thinks as he scoops up the cane from its place atop the crate. He tests its weight in both hands.
"Rocky seems in quite a state," Dorian says, in lieu of a more conventional greeting.