Still: it's only about ten minutes after the stables have gone quiet before there's a splash outside.

Cullen has, in a fit of exhausted pique, upended a (small) rain barrel over his head in lieu of a bath. It was hot work today, but he just... doesn't have the patience.

At least he takes his boots off before coming inside, so he doesn't squelch that much. His weariness bleeds into his voice as he sets his boots by the door. "Alistair?"

(His shirt sticks to his skin. He probably should've taken it off first. Ah well.)