This nightmare wasn't as bad as usual, but it still woke Rora up. Stomach churning, she rose and began pulling on her coat and boots, careful not to wake her Mabari. She fumbled with the tent flap, stumbled out into the night and toward the cooling campfire. There, she blinked, her eyes not yet adjusted to the dark, and called softly, "Alistair?" He answered: "I'm here."
They sat side by side in their usual spot, watching the dying embers and letting the silence of the campsite hang around them. There was no need to speak, not right away. It would be some time before they got back to sleep.
"Do you want to talk about it?" Rora asked, like she always did. As always, he shook his head.
They studied the constellations instead. Rora never tired of staring at them. Even before the Circle she hadn't seen many, but Alistair seemed to know about all of them. He was partial to the high dragon, she to the shadow—the one that looked like an owl.
"You would like that one," he said, nudging her. "Bookworm."
She nudged him back, giggling. "Shhh."
Their talk moved organically from constellations, to their traveling companions ("Did you see the way Sten was glaring at me during dinner?Spooky."), to pure nonsense ("But, look, how do we know Andraste didn't have a Mabari?") to more serious topics, like their imminent arrival in Redcliffe.
"Are you looking forward to going back?" she asked him.
"Er… mostly no." He made a face. "Are you looking forward to going back to the Circle of Magi?"
She grimaced back. "Mostly no."
They played games to pass the time—an unsuccessful attempt at eye spy (only Rora could spy anything) and an even less successful attempt at cat's cradle (they got hopelessly tangled). Then, as they grew tired, they turned once more to silence.
He shifted beside her, his movement the only sound aside from the crickets.
"Do you want to talk about it?" he said.
Rora, sleepiness edging over her, glanced up to study his profile. He was looking at the stars again, and she grinned at the distinct shape his nose made against the sky, the focused curve of his brow. She thought, not for the first time, that she liked this side of him. This quiet, introspective side that came out most often on these sleepless nights. It almost made her look forward to the nightmares.
"No," she said. Unable to help it, she yawned. "I've already forgotten it."
He yawned too, a mirror of her own, and smiled. They would bid each other goodnight soon, but for now, they could sit and watch the stars a bit longer.