He has been in Thedas for what feels like some time now, the rift shard nibbling away at him as a moth might a sweater. And before that, he'd faced that exhausting evening at some older, sharper Kitty Jones' less than tender mercies. And before that, he'd suffered through just a long term of uninterrupted service as he'd ever known. It's really a wonder there's anything left of him at all. He's ready to go back to where he belongs. He's ready to be done with this body. He's so very eager for it in fact that he doesn't even criticize her pronunciation. Sure, he thinks, that's close enough to count.

It should be anyway.

It isn't.

That much becomes infinitely clear in the lingering, quiet moment that follows. The room about them remains unchanged. His feet are exactly where he first put them inside the pentacle. "Your consonants aren't right at all. Say it like--" He recites the words from the page, stressing particular syllables. He snaps his fingers. Shifts where his feet are planted. "Go on."