"I burn down here in the summer." His face and neck are permanently redder than the rest of him, all of that covered with armor when he's out and about. He never truly tans, just reaches some odd compromise of red that doesn't seem to get worse after the first couple of weeks of hot weather. "I think it would be worth it just to have the experience once. All that hot sand." He sounds wistful.

The truth is anywhere sounds better than Kirkwall, and isn't that a depressingly familiar place to be mentally? He felt that way about Ferelden for years. At this rate, he may run out of places to go and learn to hate.

"I'd say that's an improvement over blood and demon filth." He leans and makes a show of sniffing. Of course, he's nowhere near close enough to Dorian to smell him. If he were, the overall scent of the beach would probably still overpower it. "Can't smell you. After the night we had, that's probably a good thing."

He's enjoying this, the quiet time away from the camp, the chance to talk about normal things, which is practically anything that doesn't involve Kirkwall's troubles or politics. Dorian is good company. The better he gets to know him, the more he's convinced of that.