They had made camp nearly two hours ago at the edge of Crestwood's vast farmland, which was around the time when Bice noticed that Cole's hat had a rather large hole in the side and had insisted on mending it for him. After a full day of draining the lake and putting spirits to rest, not to mention apparently changing the region's entire climate, they were due for a rest. Around the campfire they sat, digging into their dinners while Bice stole bites from her own as she stitched a sturdy patch into the worn leather. He'd need a new one before long and the mage was already tracking how much leather she would set aside.

She was done before long, breaking off the remaining string with her teeth and handed the hat back to its owner who promptly sat it right back on top of his corn colored hair. The work had been done quickly, yet efficiently and Bice took up her own plate and listened as Cassandra and Blackwall debated shield techniques around the crackling fire.

Now after two hours the party was about ready to turn in for the night, so Bice turned her attention back towards the spirit boy. He had one hand clutched to the rim of his hat and the other in his lap as he watched a long row of ants on the ground, fascinated with the creatures' journey.

"How does it feel, Cole? Is it holding together?"

"Yes. Tied and tighter so not to tear. A stitch. A wish of blue like the sky, like his eyes. Such big eyes, such sunken cheeks. He needs to eat more." He blinked, fingers lifting to stroke around the new patch. "I don't eat."

Bice's lips curled into a fond smile. "I know you don't, Cole. Pay me no mind. I'm glad it's not uncomfortable. I know how much you love your hats."

Cole nodded, satisfied that there was no hurt. He retuned his attention to the trail of ants, now marching over the log on which he sat.

"Do you always carry a needle and thread, Inquisitor?" Cassandra asked.

"I used to. Back in the Circle, someone always had a rip or a tear in their robes that needed mending."

Cole's head lifted again, his eyes starting off into the night, voice softening in a tone not completely his own. "Deyrel, pointed ears blushing red, singed sleeve laying warm in my lap, little Rona giggling with every pull. He's always so careless during his experiments, darling man." Cole continued even as Bice had frozen. "It's all right. You can miss him."

"Boy," Blackwall warned without any real heat. "That's enough."

The warrior's reproach was more concern for the Inquisitor's feelings rather than an actual fear of Cole's powers. Even so Cole looked suddenly sullen, quietly cowed into guilt.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled. "Did I tear it?"

Bice shook herself returning to the present though her heart was still sore from memories of days gone by. Deyrel would have liked Cole, of that she was certain. He would have never stopped asking questions and Cole would never stop with his cryptic answers and she would have probably found them carrying on even after dawn broke.

"No Cole, you didn't, don't worry."

"Not torn, never torn. Just tugged."

"Yes. Are the ants going anywhere interesting?"

He nodded once. "One by one by one by one. The wet is gone so back, back to growing. Deeper, bigger, further. Home will be home again and home will breathe."

After a quiet moment, the woman smiled broadly, eyes crinkling. "I see. The farmers will be pleased, I'm sure. All of that unexpected rain must have damaged the soil."

"They don't know they're helping, but they wouldn't mind."

Cassandra appeared confused, looking between the two of them. Blackwell let out a low guffaw and shook his head.

"Sometimes I mistake you for Solas, Lady Beatrice, what with how well you're able to understand the lad."

Bice raised an eyebrow at her friend. "I've told you before that you can call me Bice, Blackwall. You won't burst into flames."

"And have Cullen gut me where I stand? I prefer my innards inside my belly, thank you, milady."

She shook her head, forfeiting the losing battle, at least for tonight. One of these days, she really would have get Cullen to take his armor off during his off-duty hours, at least in the tavern or at dinner. Then maybe the fear of addressing the Inquisitor more casually wouldn't seem like such a perilous feat.

"It is impressive, however," Cassandra offered. "Your intentions may be kind, Cole, but I will admit to being left baffled by some of the things that come out of your mouth."

The Inquisitor opened her own to comment, but Cole beat her to it. One minute he had been sitting across from her on the other side of the fire and the next he was at her side, with that ever-present scent of dusty leather and mint filling her nostrils.

"Stop, wait, listen, think. It makes sense even if it's not clear. Let him get it all out, then put it back together so it makes a shape."

Everyone stared. Bice reached out tilt the rim of his hat back so as to look at his bang-covered face. He desperately needed a haircut. He and Sera both. "Yes Cole, that's right."

He frowned, looking lost. Looking for the right words. She reached out to take his hand in her own and he didn't let go. "But sometimes the shape doesn't fit."

She squeezed his hand and it was so strange to recognize that it was larger than her own. "Even so, you deserve to be heard. I enjoy listening to what you have to say."

Cole studied her face, or perhaps not. Perhaps it was what was inside. Whatever he saw seemed to satisfy him and he nodded, letting a shy smile bloom on his face.

He squeezed back.