Alistair knows damn well he has no reason to feel useless when Cullen shrinks back and goes quiet; no man can ever be happy all the time, and Cullen's...well, by nature, he's prone to moods. Tell that to the tiny little bastards in the back of Alistair's mind, though.

Luckily, they're easily distracted by digging out worms and beetles from the crevices of tree roots. Alistair's commandeered a sock from his pack -- they're right near a lake, it'll be easy enough to wash later -- and eventually tromps back with it three-quarters full and one hundred percent muddy.