What he needs, he thinks as he storms along the shore, is some -- sudden shock. Something to slap him into feeling less raw. Into acting right. A walk isn't going to get it. Not when every place he looks conjures a memory of Before. But how?







Should Alistair stick his head out of the tent at the sound of the large splash and ensuing cursing, he will spy Cullen's clothes on the dock -- crumpled, not folded.