Rannon gave Feri a grin that showed his teeth when she took a swig or two of Whiskey. Ferelden grew hard men, which is what he tried to live up to. That, and a good, loyal soldier. He'd heard the Dwarves were good at keeping their Whiskey down, so watching her downing it like he did was impressive, considering how small she was. Then again, he'd never been the biggest drinker himself. He'd been too much into his drills to do that more often than once every blue moon. 

For the first time in nearly a week, Rannon felt a bit better with her words. He returned her smile with one of his own, his iron eyes almost looking blue-grey in the sunlight. He realized that her hand lingered on his forearm for a few moments, before she hastily went to bandage herself. Rannon hadn't minded it at all truth be told, though his thought process was interrupted by seeing that long scar on her back. It sobered him up right quick. He wouldn't pry about it though. Maybe if they got to know one another better. 

He was going to ask if she was alright with her wound, but she seemed to be fine when she stood up. Gideon was happily chewing on the last bits of the Jerky Feri had given him. He seemed to be enjoying the chewing more than the prospect of eating the food at the moment, letting out small 'hhmmrrmmph" noises as he chomped.  

"Redcliffe?" he echoed, nodding. "That sounds as good of an idea as any. It's a trek westward, but there's bound to be some places between here and there." Rannon admitted that now he had sat down, he didn't quite want to get up again. But he wasn't one to rest while others felt like going, and there was still daylight left. He stood up, and began tying his belt around his waist again. "I wasn't thinking of a particular place to go after Ostagar. Only I needed to find an Arl, and tell them about Loghain's treachery, and the Blight in general." 

Suddenly, he remembered something. He was just finishing his belt when it hit him. He glanced to Feri at his left. "...I never told you about Loghain, did I?"