This late in the day? [ His proud nose scrunches, and he shakes his head. ] Not often.
[ Selûne and the Morninglord are something like cousins, but his prayers have never been hers to answer. The moon and the stars hold other, rarer voices than hers for Godfrey.
And really, that's another reminder that his continued consciousness is a disaster; his routines hanging precariously ahead of him. Godfrey didn't know how far away sun-up was, but he knew that he'd not slept through dawn prayer in years. One poor night wasn't about to make him start - as much as the Godfrey of tomorrow morning might grudge him for it while he rubs their eyes and pages through their book of holy scripture, trying to luxuriate in another sacred dawn.
He'd never grudge Astarion's company, but the sound of him dramatically circling to his bedroll is an especially welcome one tonight as he lays there, fingers laced behind his head, one ankle crossed over the other. Thoroughly unable to fall into sleep, and with naught but the soft breathing of their campsite and the crackle of the fire between all of them to accompany the impending pressure of a sleepless morning. Conversation is a dear distraction. ]
Seems as though the night is determined to give to neither of us what we need. [ He carefully untangles his fingers and rouses his arms from idle stiffness to prop himself up, giving both thickly muscled legs a trembling stretch before smiling to his visitor. ] Though I can't promise I'll be as impassive in conversation as the stars, I can still do my all in giving you what they won't.
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[ Selûne and the Morninglord are something like cousins, but his prayers have never been hers to answer. The moon and the stars hold other, rarer voices than hers for Godfrey.
And really, that's another reminder that his continued consciousness is a disaster; his routines hanging precariously ahead of him. Godfrey didn't know how far away sun-up was, but he knew that he'd not slept through dawn prayer in years. One poor night wasn't about to make him start - as much as the Godfrey of tomorrow morning might grudge him for it while he rubs their eyes and pages through their book of holy scripture, trying to luxuriate in another sacred dawn.
He'd never grudge Astarion's company, but the sound of him dramatically circling to his bedroll is an especially welcome one tonight as he lays there, fingers laced behind his head, one ankle crossed over the other. Thoroughly unable to fall into sleep, and with naught but the soft breathing of their campsite and the crackle of the fire between all of them to accompany the impending pressure of a sleepless morning. Conversation is a dear distraction. ]
Seems as though the night is determined to give to neither of us what we need. [ He carefully untangles his fingers and rouses his arms from idle stiffness to prop himself up, giving both thickly muscled legs a trembling stretch before smiling to his visitor. ] Though I can't promise I'll be as impassive in conversation as the stars, I can still do my all in giving you what they won't.