The air in Astarion's tent is tense. You've been arguing - and you're both about at your wits end.

You watch him as he uses two fingers to pinch the bridge of his nose, as if to rid himself of a headache.

Hot tears stream down your face. You think how easy it would be to run out of his tent and to the beautiful cliff side where the air is clear and free from tension.

Astarion sees the glint of an idea to run on your face. He sighs.