[ The skeletal remains of a society destroyed. Astarion has never considered himself sentimental, but there is something about the place that's a bit haunting. One can imagine children running around the fountain, old grannies gathering in the gazebo. He isn't sure when he started finding things like this sad. Before, he'd never had any room for empathy, only the pain of his own suffering.
'Suitable' isn't the word he'd use to describe it, but Astarion crouches to slide under the protection of a dilapidated bridge that runs across a depression in the forest floor. Small, dark. The perfect place for a rat to hide. He sits on the ground, pulling his knees up to his chest to make himself smaller. ]
You know, [ he says, frowning, ] that first day, I curled up and hid behind a collection of shipping containers.
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'Suitable' isn't the word he'd use to describe it, but Astarion crouches to slide under the protection of a dilapidated bridge that runs across a depression in the forest floor. Small, dark. The perfect place for a rat to hide. He sits on the ground, pulling his knees up to his chest to make himself smaller. ]
You know, [ he says, frowning, ] that first day, I curled up and hid behind a collection of shipping containers.