Cyril gave her a sweet smile and handed the book back to her. It wasn't really a gift, he told himself. Not in the sense that other Dalish would consider it. Just more of a small comfort. It was a secret, an acknowledgement that they both had similar interests. Hers might have been more romantic than his, but it was still important, he thought, that she knew she had a safe place to talk about it. If she needed it.

"I should get some sleep," he said. "There's an early morning hunt and I've already stayed up for too late to be of use." That wasn't true, of course. Cyril wouldn't have gone out if he had thought he'd be useless in the morning. It was simply easier to make fun of himself than acknowledge that there was any sort of meaning behind his actions. He didn't do well with that sort of thing.