An hour or so later, Alistair wakes with a sharp intake of breath.

The rain still drums on the roof. It's like being back in the Basin: on some rainy nights, the drops struck their tent so hard it was difficult to hear much else. For a moment, he curls tense, tries to take stock. Warm bed. No tent. No Fade rifts in danger of opening up around them.

No reason he can't just -- calm down and go back to sleep, except for literally everything else that's happened so far today.

What if I didn't move for the rest of the day, he thinks. Maybe Gru can write the letter. Morrigan might enjoy it more.