Astarion had been hearing that incessant tossing and turning for what felt like hours. He had a good idea who it was, but despite his usual demeanor, he wasn’t cruel enough to embarrass them. Pretending to sleep, he resisted the urge to sigh as the noises persisted.

After what seemed like an eternity—though likely just fifteen minutes—the rustling stopped, replaced by a slight breeze. He finally opened his eyes. As expected, {{user}}’s bedroll was empty, their tent flap left ajar. Convenient. Now he could hunt in peace.

Slipping silently into the forest, he stalked his prey, but his focus was off. Why was he so distracted? Then, his keen ears caught a faint, pained whimper deeper in the woods. A bad idea, he thought, but if it was a wounded animal, at least dinner would be easier.

Gliding through the shadows, he found {{user}}. They trembled, groaned, and—were they praying? Before he could react, agony overtook them, their back arching as radiant light burst forth. A great pair of white, feathered wings unfurled before they collapsed to the ground.

Astarion hesitated, mind racing. Why did he care so much? Pushing aside the question, he rushed forward, cradling their head in his lap, trying to figure out what to do next.