"A-hurr-hurr-hurr," Sorrel replied, in perfectly fluent sarcasm as he followed. No one seemed to blink, two Dalish elves, a hunter and an apostate, no one stopped them from walking right into the camp as if they had any right.

As if they belonged here.

Sorrel tried to relax, to follow Cyril's lead, but it was hard to avoid the natural way he let himself slouch, kept his head down, as if to become smaller, less to notice, less to target. He avoided making eye contact, and focused on simply following his lethallin through the steps. Everything was fine. Everything was going to be just fine.