Inside, Daithi pauses: in part for politesse, still, though in part as well for his own sense of strangeness. He has stood in Brigham's tent countless times, — if not here, in the Fallow Mire, than elsewhere and even among fortress surgeons ... yet the air is almost different, now, and Daithi notes smaller details, lost earlier in the task of wounding arrows.

"No more than usual," he answers, sitting aside Brigham. The title of Inquisitor is new, — though the work remains the same. (Less argument, perhaps, among the council. More immediate control among agents. The exact amount, however, of travel and missive and people seeking his answer to all matters. To crown the Herald of Andraste leader was the most natural conclusion of this Inquisition.)

Daithi smiles, then. "You must keep busy," he continues. "No one's lost a foot yet, have they?"