Beneath Adelaide's hand and her magic, Benevenuta closes her eyes, just a sparse hint of an insouciant smile shaping her bow mouth, as if it naturally follows that Adelaide should be as tolerant of the northern mages turning a trip to Redcliffe into some sort of private weekend bender. (There are worse things they might’ve done to pass the time. No frogs were lit aflame. Again.)

"He was dressed very inappropriately," she informs her, languid. "I told him that is what he needs me for - to keep him warm, so you won't gesture at him-"

with a fair mimic of what she had previously described as 'Orlesian gesturing', though she doesn't bother to lift herself or her eyelids.

"He would have ridden back in the dark, all a-tilt. But we camped."