Atticus gives her a peculiar look, letting that spell of silence rest between them unbroken just long enough to make it clear to her that no, he knows better than that. They both know that he does.
He lets the topic slip away but slowly; releasing it, rather than having it escape from him. He drops his eyes to his left hand, shackled as it is, and flexes it slowly. "I regret that there is little else of the somniari that I can tell you, Madame de Cedoux. Even if theirs was not a dying breed, it isn't an art practiced openly in Thedas."
Carefully, he watches her over the rims of his spectacles, and hopes that the words he chose indicate well enough the ones that he means.
no subject
Atticus gives her a peculiar look, letting that spell of silence rest between them unbroken just long enough to make it clear to her that no, he knows better than that. They both know that he does.
He lets the topic slip away but slowly; releasing it, rather than having it escape from him. He drops his eyes to his left hand, shackled as it is, and flexes it slowly. "I regret that there is little else of the somniari that I can tell you, Madame de Cedoux. Even if theirs was not a dying breed, it isn't an art practiced openly in Thedas."
Carefully, he watches her over the rims of his spectacles, and hopes that the words he chose indicate well enough the ones that he means.