Unplanned Meeting [Nethras]

[Inera Felas'nan]

Escaping Orlais had been no small feat. Inera had fled north east into Nevarra, then continued on into the Free Marches and the Planasene Forest. She’d eventually taken ship in Kirkwall, smuggling Dor’falon on board, and spent a miserable two days holed up in her cabin, sending fervent thanks to the Creators that the aravals weren’t actual ships.

She’d landed in Highever with ill grace, rushing off the ship with the wolf at her heels and not slowing her pace until she had left the city behind her. The journey from Orlais had taken seven months in total.

Over the next couple of days she’d made her way further inland, enjoying being in the open air again but missing the trees and wilderness that just wasn’t present in tame grasslands and farmers’ fields.

It was midday on the fourth day after arriving in Ferelden. Inera had called a halt for lunch (Dor’falon had promptly bounded off to hunt) and to start treating the skins of the rabbits she’d caught and put over the fire to cook. She started to mend a few holes in her traveling cloak and slightly worn spare shirt as she waited, occasionally turning the spit so the coneys cooked evenly.

She didn’t much like stopping in this kind of place; it was too open. Yes, Ferelden had many hills, which was better than nothing, but she doubted she’d ever feel truly safe outside of the security of the trees of a forest. Plenty of places to hide, there. Not so many here.

The one advantage, she supposed, was that she could see quite far. It would be difficult – ‘but not impossible’ she acknowledged grimly – for someone to sneak up on her.

Still, the vulnerability made the fine hairs on her arms stand on end. It was why she liked having Dor’falon around; he sensed everyone before they reached her. It was like having a sentry partner who didn’t distract you with stupid jokes, or annoy you all shift.

Without him, however, Inera found herself looking up from her work more frequently, scanning the area around her, her ears trained on any sounds that may not fit the sweeping grasslands around her.

[Nethras Alvar]

Did it never end? Nethras wondered as he ran across the plains, exhausted and tired after having been hunted for two days. It was starting to become unbearable, how far did he need to run? How many times did he need to fall? He had to find somewhere to hide, but where? There were no places in the open fields, neither between the small hills. The humans would catch up to him eventually, and then they would kill him, just like the rest of his Dalish Clan. Oh the horrible things they had done to his new found friends in the woods, everyone he knew had been slaughtered and for what? Because the Shemlen thought they had killed the wife and child of the local Bann, lies!

He knew the answer on who were responsible, and that person clearly wanted him dead now, it was the neighbor`s Bann`s wife whom had set it all up, just so she could gain more wealth. Despicable! That information had he gained in the village of Whitefield, but barely had he managed to escape the place alive. The only reason he still lived was because of Honovi, his friend, his companion, who in the last moment had sacrificed her own life to save his. At first he had refused to leave, but eventually she convinced him, by reminding him of his sister.

The last glimpse he caught of Honovi in the moment he fled was her bravery against five other men, but what happened next he could only predict. The very thought of what had actually happened remained on Nethras mind while he ran, but even though how sad it made him, he kept on moving.

Turning to look back, Nethras could hear the sound of dogs barking and men shouting in the distance, there were at least five or ten people, how many dogs he did not know. It looked grim and he had no clue on how much longer he could keep up, his wound on the leg was getting worse, as it was about to re-open itself again. Turning the gaze back forward he saw dark clouds gather in the horizon, which only meant one thing, winter had arrived and snow would soon begin to fall.

Then all of sudden, the cold winds knocked him off balance and he stumbled, rolling down the hill, hitting the ground hard. Was this the end? Would he die on the field like a slain animal? Breathing dust, Nethras saw nothing, but felt that his wound had re-opened. On the stomach he laid there, paralyzed by what just had happened.

[Inera Felas'nan]

She heard the baying first.

Inera was on her feet, her bow in hand and an arrow half-drawn before the sound had been in hers ears long enough for the distance to register with her.

Close, but not worryingly so... but she recognised the cadence of the howls. Hunting calls.

Inera froze.

Hunting dogs. Humans, probably nobles. Hunting trophies.

Dor’falon.

Inera spun in place, scanning the sloping hills with a trained scout’s eye, but no lupine shape was in sight.

Heart hammering, she dropped her bow and the arrow on top of the fallen shirt and sewing kit, cupping her hands around her mouth and tilting her head back as a low, warbling howl resounded out of her.

She paused, holding absolutely still as the dogs’ baying fell silent for a moment in apparent confusion.

Then a second, familiar howl sounded, and Inera slumped with relief, before frowning.

Dor’falon’s howl had come from the opposite direction to the hounds – there, she could see him bounding over a hill towards her now, a lean streak of grey through the dun grass.

So what had the dogs been hunting?

Inera turned, scanning the again, searching the hills as the baying started up again, eager to the point of frenzied.

A glimpse of vivid, dark green and white at the base of one of the hills, motionless.

She narrowed her eyes. That hadn’t been there a few seconds ago when she’d looked for Dor’falon.

Her eyes focused, and the colours resolved into a shape that could very easily be a body. A still living body, if it had gotten down there in a few seconds... unless it had an arrow in it.

Still, Inera was no fan of hunting for sport – need, yes, but not for pointless trophies that left most of the body to rot. She was definitely opposed to hunting people like animals.

She could hear Dor’falon now, several metres away.

Inera made a quick decision before stooping to grab her bow and the dropped arrow, shouldering both and shoving the partially mended shirt into her pack. She then quickly snatched the whole thing up, grabbed the rabbits from the fire and stuffed them, cooking spit and all, into her sparsely packed bag. No point wasting it, after all.

She turned as Dor’falon reached her and started to run alongside the wolf, as close to sprinting as she could get on the uneven ground.

The wolf slowed to match her pace, but it still only took them a few seconds to reach the fallen figure.

A man – an elf – lying face-down. Inera thought he was old, from the white hair, and dead, from the stillness, until she caught a glimpse of his decidedly younger face and the open, rather alive eyes.

Wounded, though. She could see blood seeping through the leg of his trousers.

The dogs were getting closer.

“Alas,” she swore, before dropping to one knee and shaking the man’s shoulder. There was no time to worry about whether that would jostle his injury.

“Can you move?” She asked sharply in Common, already starting to lift him, slinging the arm on the opposite side of his injury over her shoulder. She took a second to brace herself before unfolding her body to stand straight, moving with a tight control to keep her balance with the added weight.

Dor’falon skittered around them nervously, his ears tilted back, whining at each bark and human shout that he heard.

With a sigh through her teeth, Inera shifted the man’s weight across her shoulders again and quickly reoriented herself with a glance at the burning, blinding sun and slogged forwards, tugging at the man’s arm to urge him to try and walk.

The last cover she’d passed – the last real forest, anyway – had been back in the Free Marches. The last cave had been in the Coastlands, a day’s journey away.

“Elgar’nan take you,” she muttered to their unseen pursuers, gritting her teeth and deciding the only thing to do was continue the way she had been heading and hope to find cover. With their damned hounds, however, that might prove difficult...

Unless they were distracted.

One handed, Inera scrabbled awkwardly at the top of her pack. The end of the cooking spit stuck out of the side of the flap, and it stabbed her in the hand when she groped for it.

Cursing, Inera ignored the dent in her palm and grabbed the spit, pulling it and the rabbits out.

She was aware of Dor’falon’s eyes fixing on the food, but she ignored him.

Instead, she turned and tossed the meal onto the flattened grass where the elf had fallen, before dragging him onwards with a sharp command and wave for Dor’falon to follow.

It wouldn’t buy them much time, especially if the dogs were well-trained, but even a few seconds might be enough.

“Keep moving!” She panted; one arm locked around the elf’s waist, her hand gripping his belt and using it to half-lift him another step. “I need you to move or we’re both lost.”