Great. Now he's sitting—on a horse, but still sitting—and thinking about it. Running for Rivain. The back of Zevran's neck.
Unkillable darkspawn.
"I'm not," he says, angling his frown away from Zevran, toward the sandy horizon. He doesn't want to fight, especially now, when Zevran is riding out to save the Wardens. And him. But if he's going back on his word he doesn't want to draw it out, either. He meant it, in the stables, as much as he's ever meant anything, but out here in the daylight, with an army—"He's a darkspawn." His responsibility. "And nothing is unkillable."
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Unkillable darkspawn.
"I'm not," he says, angling his frown away from Zevran, toward the sandy horizon. He doesn't want to fight, especially now, when Zevran is riding out to save the Wardens. And him. But if he's going back on his word he doesn't want to draw it out, either. He meant it, in the stables, as much as he's ever meant anything, but out here in the daylight, with an army—"He's a darkspawn." His responsibility. "And nothing is unkillable."