It only makes sense, if they're to be living here in the south among so many Viddathari, many of whom will never speak any language apart from common. Dorian resolves not for the first time to learn Qunlat, whatever it takes. If they're to be here for any significant length of time--he hopes not, of course, but it's a real possibility--then he refuses to let anyone talk over or about him without his knowledge. There must be some sort of class for Viddathari on Qunlat that he can attend, or else Bull can teach him himself.
Before he can really give it much thought, the children are upon them. They absolutely rush Bull, who is clearly delighted by the attention. Dorian's told him so before, but it's so very obvious now, seeing him kneeling among a gaggle of tiny Qunari, answering their questions with good humor and letting them touch his horns; Bull would make a wonderful father. It strikes at a tender place in Dorian's heart just to witness the openness of Bull's expression, the joy there.
But then he's approached himself, somewhat to his surprise. He kneels as urged by that small grey hand curling into the looser fabric around his knees. He has to enjoy the little one's boldness, and finds himself grinning at the question. It's magic, he might say to a child in Tevinter with a conspiratorial wink. "Of course it does," he says instead, pinching one end of his mustache lightly between his thumb and forefinger. "If I didn't trim it, it would just keep growing round and round." He makes a circular gesture with his finger to indicate a spiral, and the child laughs. Dorian can't help but glance at Bull, still smiling. He has never had much exposure to children, but finds that he rather enjoys the precocious ones like this.
"Hissrad, Hissrad!" A small girl is exclaiming, straining to reach upward toward Bull. "Want to see from the top!" She lapses into Qunlat for another few words, but it seems to Dorian she very much wants to ride on Bull's horns.
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Before he can really give it much thought, the children are upon them. They absolutely rush Bull, who is clearly delighted by the attention. Dorian's told him so before, but it's so very obvious now, seeing him kneeling among a gaggle of tiny Qunari, answering their questions with good humor and letting them touch his horns; Bull would make a wonderful father. It strikes at a tender place in Dorian's heart just to witness the openness of Bull's expression, the joy there.
But then he's approached himself, somewhat to his surprise. He kneels as urged by that small grey hand curling into the looser fabric around his knees. He has to enjoy the little one's boldness, and finds himself grinning at the question. It's magic, he might say to a child in Tevinter with a conspiratorial wink. "Of course it does," he says instead, pinching one end of his mustache lightly between his thumb and forefinger. "If I didn't trim it, it would just keep growing round and round." He makes a circular gesture with his finger to indicate a spiral, and the child laughs. Dorian can't help but glance at Bull, still smiling. He has never had much exposure to children, but finds that he rather enjoys the precocious ones like this.
"Hissrad, Hissrad!" A small girl is exclaiming, straining to reach upward toward Bull. "Want to see from the top!" She lapses into Qunlat for another few words, but it seems to Dorian she very much wants to ride on Bull's horns.