Leliana: Herald, you’re here? You are looking well for a supposed dead man.
Carver: Sister Nightingale? You’re still alive? You look–
Carver: *thinking* Maker, she looks terrible! What do I say?
Carver: – leathery. B-but in a good way. *sigh* Fuck.
Dorian: Oh, it makes me wonder how such a honey-tongued, discerning, young rake such as yourself is still single. I can only imagine the hordes of willing maidens literally throwing themselves at you, all heaving bosoms and wanton abandon, as you compare their beauty to an old, worn saddle.