( Leliana can't help but draw back just a little, with the kind words. It's not incredulity that sparks the need to look at Sara, some interrogation done with just a look. No, there's not on that, or the criticism that might come with it, veiled or otherwise. Leliana wants to look at Sara, to see her, because—

Because for all that it boggles her mind that someone can think that of her after what she has said about being a bard, and for all the doubts that these past months have started to make creep upon her with the inevitability of time passing (time, it always seems to be time that they get tangled up in, Sara and she), Leliana believes her.

Her hands draw back, but only so that she can bring them to rest at Sara's shoulder, sliding inward until they rest where neck meets shoulder, fingers gently curling over Sara's skin. )

I believe you.

( First of all, that should be said. Perhaps it could also be said that Leliana is easily persuaded, and that she can be gullible at times in her eagerness to place faith and trust and push away what it is to be a bard, but she does trust Sara. Without hesitation. ) You don't really strike me as the type to skirt the truth.

( Said fondly, though she would be hard pressed to not be fond of Sara, truthfully. It takes a moment, what comes next. A leaning forward, a hesitation, because the beach and all the time that stretched between feels like a hurdle that was not there before. Leliana does not quite kiss Sara— she means to, and moves closer, and there is the undeniable shift before she cuts herself short, still very close but realising the presumption. )

I— would it be alright if I kiss you? If you wanted, I mean, not simply you enduring it for the sake of being fond of me, or— yes.