Venom stirring in the tilt to Richard’s shoulder and the sliver of his eyes settles after a delay for suspicion. His feathers smooth with it, and there’s something of Thot the Hawk in his bright-eyed reconsideration of Ellis’ raised hands, his contrition. Could he be overreacting? He kicks up a brow, takes in a breath.

No, it’s wardens who are wrong.

“‘I’m in the training yard,’ would have been a safe start.”

Still. The acidic sizzle in his inflection is gone and his posture has straightened out. Between them, little goblin hands have found Ellis’ thigh as Thot the Cat stretches up to prick needle claws through his pant leg. She blinks up at him as she reaches.

“We can ferry to Kirkwall if you’d prefer to speak outside of the Gallows.”