Soon enough, everyone's had their turn at camp-building save Alistair. They move along.

A mile or two from camp, a weird humming noise begins right at the edge of Alistair's hearing. He stops dead, the elven woman almost walking straight into him. The captain glances over. Warden Alistair?

His mouth's dry. Nothing. I don't think -- A deep breath. The rations he ate earlier churn unpleasantly; he tries to focus on the feel of the coin tucked beneath his breastplate. I don't know.

He doesn't know if the Veil's about to tear, if it's his mind playing tricks again, if it's nothing at all or a very big problem about to split open beneath their feet, and for an instant, under the rising panic, he's blindingly furious at everything all over again. Alistair touches his fingertips to the spot over the coin. Keeps breathing.

We need to move. Quickly. Mark this spot in case it's -- it's something.

A few of the recruits exchange glances, and the captain's still looking at him a little too closely, but they do as Alistair asks: they move faster.





He sits just inside the edge of camp for a good thirty minutes until he's sure he won't run. Or punch anything, for that matter.

Then he heads for his and Cullen's tent.