[ Astarion's used to being stared at; it comes with the territory of being pretty, or so he's always thought. These stares feel decidedly less complimentary, though, and he frowns in response, narrowed eyes glinting with the dim glow of street lanterns. Unthinkingly, his hand worms its way into the crook of Iorveth's elbow, a protective gesture. ]

I'm sure there's plenty of one-eyed wood elves around, [ he says, voice forcibly airy.

One of the fishermen meets his eye with a particularly mean scowl. Astarion tugs on Iorveth's arm. ]

We should find somewhere to stay before the sun comes up. [ A pause, before throwing a sidelong glance at the horse. ] —And somewhere to put this awful beast, I suppose.

[ They could just take their things and leave it to its own devices, but that feels strangely... unpleasant. ]