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Summary
Fenris' appearance is a surprise, but not unexpected. Hawke wishes she could look at him, linger her eyes on the sharp lines of his face, the downturn of his pouting lips, and the growth of his facial hair in their time apart. It always grows in a little red beneath his lower lip, and Hawke imagines it’s long enough to scrape coarsely on her skin when they next kiss.
“Sorry, darling,” Hawke says, jovially.