[ Well now! Isn't this a cosy little spot? How nice.

In contrast to the nervous mass of strangers still packed like sardines on the wharf behind her, Cousland's busy trying to hop around awkwardly on one leg while pulling a boot on, practically giving herself whiplash from trying to take in the grandeur of the snowy town all at once.
How fascinating! The odd architecture, the conspicuous absence of medieval sanitation standards (or let's face it, the lack thereof)... this isn't a remote region of the Frostbacks, that's for certain. Not a damned nug in sight.

But you know what is in plain sight?
Food. And drink. Wine specifically, which has her beelining through the knee deep drifts in her borrowed boots and scant cloak like a miniature red snowplow as if the cold is nothing but an afterthought, probably showering some unfortunate bystanders in her haste to "fortify herself".

STAND ASIDE, PEASANTS. This Dog Lord demands the liquor tithe posthaste! ]

One wine over here, good ser! [ Does she have coin to pay for it? Probably not. But doesn't the wolfish grin on her face scream "just trust me bro I'll pay you back next week"? Such sparkling charm. Such gallantry. Never you mind the fact this particular knight in shining armour is decidedly less shiny than she'd prefer, seeing as her usual wardrobe seems to have grown legs and wandered off when she wasn't looking.
But I digress. Cousland leans against the food stand with an elbow - mysteriously weaseling her way to the front of the line entirely by coincidence of course - and cranks up the winning smile several more magnitudes. ] Maker, you can never tell how long sunshine lasts with this blasted weather, eh?

Better make that two cups. Just in case.

[ Alas, Cousland's greed has landed her in yet another predicament entirely of her own choosing.

Practical as Fereldan craftsmen are, she's rather regretting not liking a frail, frilly thing like the lacy toys found in Orlais... instead, she's shimmied up a tree in distinctly undignified fashion to get away from her beloved childhood toy - an ivory dog with a built in lever for working the jaws.
Great fun to make it "bite" unsuspecting people as a wee hellion. Now, she's not so sure. ]

Some friend you are. [ Cousland scolds the capering creature below, the mouth opening and closing with hollow 'click's and 'clack's in silent (indignant?) barks. Though it has long legs, the tree is just tall enough to keep her out of reach. ] I'm not apologizing for the family mabari getting his teeth in you, so forget it!

[ Huh. Look at that. A sky tribute, all to her?

Sauntering on up next to whomever happens to be observing the same phenomenon, Cousland eyes the light show above skeptically for a moment or two, wrapping herself more snugly into the blanket she's dragged with her from the log cabin.
The scene etched in the shimmering aurora isn't Cousland as she is now, but as a child - pointing at another childlike figure in a very accusatory manner while a larger adult looks on.

After a brief span to study in silence, she remarks offhandedly: ]

As flattering as this attention is, that's a horrendously dull image to be looking at all night. Couldn't they have livened it up a bit?

[ Choose your own prompt! ]