"She is, isn't she?" Thinking of it makes Myr self-conscious; he adjusts his hold on the nuglet to something that feels a little steadier. "I'm half-afraid I'm going make a wrong move and hurt her, she's so small."

So Simon's certainly not alone in that; Myr might not be so prodigiously large as his templar friend, but he's always had a physical edge on other mages. (And Enchanter Philomela had wasted no time drilling it into his head that he wasn't to use it against them, either. No matter how tempting it sometimes was.)

"From Orlais, if you can believe it. Someone sent Seeker Darton a whole crate of them to give away." Though his tone is light, there's a flicker of unease on that name, that title. A Seeker. He'd spoken casually to a real Seeker, gotten a nug from that Seeker. It's still got that unbelievable cottony feel of a dream about it all.

The Inquisition is a strange place. Where else would he have forged so fast a friendship with a templar, though? Or gotten the mad idea it's not a total violation of propriety to invite one into his quarters--but it's easy to put that aside in favor of worry about Simon. "--Come on, though. At least come sit down for a bit, instead of looming about over there fussing with the coconut." He can hear that. "What's come and ambushed you, that's got you so unhappy on your first day home?"