Solas' expression softens into one of pity. It's an incremental change, barely noticeable except to those who know him best. Except to her.
He turns away, staring at the crumbling ruins that surround them, and the swaying forest beyond. "In Arlathan," he says, "there was a story. It was famous, a parable from one of our greatest philosophers." He dips his head slightly. "You've never heard it." No one has in over four thousand years.
"It's a supposition. Suppose you entered a cave, and found within a man who had only ever lived within its depths. He had never seen the sun. He had crawled about in darkness all his life, only seeing the shadows his cookfire cast on the walls. In his cave, he is perfectly content, for he has never known anything else."
no subject
He turns away, staring at the crumbling ruins that surround them, and the swaying forest beyond. "In Arlathan," he says, "there was a story. It was famous, a parable from one of our greatest philosophers." He dips his head slightly. "You've never heard it." No one has in over four thousand years.
"It's a supposition. Suppose you entered a cave, and found within a man who had only ever lived within its depths. He had never seen the sun. He had crawled about in darkness all his life, only seeing the shadows his cookfire cast on the walls. In his cave, he is perfectly content, for he has never known anything else."