He puts his focus into the next step, always the next step. Somewhere he tries to think of a frustration to let out on the other man, but only one of them was skulking around in the darkness. Only one of their mistakes might have made the difference between a trivial wound and a blood-soaked cloak. He groans quietly. Still not as bad as his worse days without lyrium.
(That deserves a mirthless laugh, but then he might not make the next step.)
When the light of the entrance hall floods into view Cullen finally takes a closer look at the man whose shoulder he currently hangs on. Not a familiar face-- or is it? He squints, but that only makes the features blur more. Another time then, when--
Cullen grasps down on the man's shoulder hard. He points to the corridor on their left, quickly.
"Second door, that way. I c'n come."
He takes a first step in the direction, just in case his decision is mistaken for a point of debate.
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(That deserves a mirthless laugh, but then he might not make the next step.)
When the light of the entrance hall floods into view Cullen finally takes a closer look at the man whose shoulder he currently hangs on. Not a familiar face-- or is it? He squints, but that only makes the features blur more. Another time then, when--
Cullen grasps down on the man's shoulder hard. He points to the corridor on their left, quickly.
"Second door, that way. I c'n come."
He takes a first step in the direction, just in case his decision is mistaken for a point of debate.