Bull doesn't really pull out of his memories until he feels Dorian's hands wrap around one of his own. He smiles, at least, when he turns his head to look at the mage. It doesn't quite reach his eye, but it's there. "We do,"he says quietly.

He brushes his thumb over one of Dorian's hands and looks away from him. He hadn't been watching Dorian approach - had he been followed? Bull doesn't see any other footprints - part of the reason he'd chosen the beach - and there are relatively few places to hide that Bull could not see.

But that might not mean anything. It doesn't give him comfort.

The weight of the information he wants to share sits heavily in his chest. He doesn't know enough about this place or the people involved to be able to extrapolate which route is best. It's been a long time since he felt this-- exposed.

The smile has faded and Bull is still looking down at where their hands meet, thinking.