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Wolves often wonder in packs. Solas did not.
Eyes, dull and mystic, trailed across the beaten path. He would be found. Vosi assured that. Innocent and pure as her intentions were. His teeth had bared into her jugular, ripping away the pulse of her heart. Yet she tried to save him. Time and time again– and in a way, he supposed, she did.
He'd come too far for it to matter.
His fingers toyed at the vial hanging from a chain, adorning the taut skin of his chest. He frequently recalled the night she gifted the Vitaar to him in dreams. A gentle reminder that not all Qunari are mindless savages who rule with iron fists.
Vosi went against everything he knew, the unfamiliarity of absent knowledge stained his ways, and he once let her know, "You have shown a subtlety in your actions, much unlike your people." She laughed a twisted thing, sound lacking humor and jostled about.
"I know," the setting sun danced on her metallic skin, bringing an ethereal glow, "I try."
He smiled at the response then. He respected her.
Eves afterward, a valued token of her kind graced his desk, note of appreciation aside it.
Never had he removed the necklace from his person.
One glance over his shoulder at the statues reaped chilled him– momentarily, briskly, pooling around his feet– he was almost sorry. And that isn't ever enough, is it?
At the soft gasp he knew Vosi for, Solas spoke without thinking:
"I would treasure the chance to be wrong once again, my friend."