Amelle sighed and nodded, turning her steps to the grey horse with its dappled hide and quiet, still rider. The man’s head was turned away from her, his pale hair matted with sweat and dirt. As she walked around to his other side, she stopped short and sucked in a sudden breath—it hurt, and she winced, but didn’t take her eyes off the man at her feet. It was the man they’d encountered in town the other day. The hard sell. The one Varric had called Broody. Without saying a word, she crouched down and pressed two fingers against his neck; a pulse beat, but it was faint and irregular.
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