The story is strange, oddly detailed, and full of the stupidest shit one can imagine coming out of anyone's imagination. Half of it is made-up words, like gnome, and place-names that Sorrel's never heard of. But it all rolls out of him with such easy aplomb, casually dismissive of the complete babbling insanity of it all, that it's somehow hard to dismiss. Which is to say... It takes a great deal of effort not to interrupt the little man at every turn, and— despite all his better judgement— Sorrel is beginning to believe that it might not be a lie. Lies, after all, tended to be more believable than this.

What the hell had Beleth gotten herself into now? And how?

"You do realize that all sounds made-up," He mutters, not at all quietly. June's own hand couldn't pen a stranger tale, "...Except for the bit where Bel' wants to tinker."

She always was like that, after all. Fussing with fire. Trying to make little potions, even as a child. Sorrel runs a hand through his hair and then down, to the back of his neck, where he grips, and grimaces, and—

"Oh, I am so stupid. Look, you turn around and walk away, and I'll tell the scouts you were a few hundred paces out there, and not over here inside the perimeter. We can talk there, if you want. And— I'm Sorrel. Sorrelean Lavellan," He says, throwing it in as an afterthought, "I'm Beleth's brother. She's my twin."