Alistair's fiddling drifts back to idleness, eventually. Sleep still feels like an excellent idea, but he's forced to admit that it may be slightly more comfortable back at camp than along a hart trail. And he's pretty sure he's recovered enough from Cullen's work to start walking. Maybe.

Worth testing it out, at least: he scoots a couple inches closer, just enough to brush a soft kiss over Cullen's temple, then pushes up to sitting.