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"Hey, give me your sword."
Fenris' reverie was broken by Hawke's statement, causing him to turn and stare at the mage. The warm glow of the fire illuminated their campsite, flickering flames casting dramatic, shifting shadows. Fenris was tired, and his brain took a moment to catch up to the statement. Hawke watched as the gears turned in his head, before he opened his mouth and deadpanned, "What?"
"Your sword, Fenris." Hawke gestured, tracing the shape of it in the air, "I need it."
"Why?" Fenris squinted, voice slightly incredulous, eyebrows lowering in suspicion.
"I need to turn the log. Your sword is non-flammable. I need it."
Fenris paused, looked back at the fire and noted that the flames were, in fact, starting to die before closing his eyes and shaking his head. The dying light caused his normally white hair to turn a soft, glowing orange, and Hawke started to wonder if his hair would be cool to the touch, seeing as how white tended to rebound heat. The train of thought was quickly abandoned as Fenris spoke up again.
"Hawke I'm not going to let you ruin my sword by sticking it into a fire and poking some logs. Use something else." He sounded slightly exasperated, and incredibly tired.
"Something else like what?"
"Your staff, maybe? It has a blade at the end."
"I don't want to get it all charred, though, It'll get ruined." Fenris gave Hawke, who seemed very smug, an unamused look.
"Daggers, then. It's not as if you use them." Fenris tilted his head to the side, resting his chin on his fist.
"Daggers are too short, I'll just burn my hands." Hawke whined a little, "And I don't want to waste mana or supplies on healing an easily avoided burn."
"Hm. Rough. Seems as if the fire will die, then."
"Fenris" Hawke whined and the elf just shrugged, limply turning back to the flames and fighting the slight grin off his face. After a moment Hawke made a noise of realization, causing Fenris to glance over as his companion hopped up like an excited mabari, turning around and jogging out of sight. Fenris decided he didn't really give a shit about what Hawke was about to do, and went back to staring off into the distance. Hawke came back within a few minutes, after digging through everyone's things, proudly brandishing a shitty sword.
"The pros to being a walking armory!" Hawke proclaimed and Fenris huffed in amusement as the mage began to tend the fire, breaking off pieces of the log and turning it. The flames began to revive themselves, and the coals began to heat up, turning close to white. Even with the shitty sword's range, heat blasted Hawke's hands, causing the skin to feel slightly fevered and uncomfortable. Hawke noted the irony of the white coals and the earlier train of thought concerning Fenris' hair.
"Walking garbage can, you mean?" Fenris retorted, earning a snort from Hawke.
"I resent that, but no, yeah you're right. Thats a fair assessment."
"Hoarder." Fenris mumbled and Hawke barked out a laugh.