Duncan woke to a cold fire pit and an empty bedroll. He stood, stretching his arms over his head and twisting his back until it popped; he was getting too old to sleep on the ground, and the Dalish leader's words had left him troubled even in his slumber.

You'll want to keep a close eye on her, Duncan. She causes far more trouble by her curiosity than all our caution. The most dangerous part is that she does not even realize it.

Now the little Dalish elf was gone, her bow and quiver no doubt with her, long braid following behind like a tail, perhaps searching through the small stand of trees or perhaps trying to make her way back to the Sabrae clan. Duncan sighed. He ate a quick breakfast of dried meat and bread, packed the bedrolls and tied both to his back, then set off on the road. The two had been heading west-southwest for three days now. They left the Brecilian Forest to travel across an expanse of dull road - plains that could have been farmed were the ground not so rocky and unyielding - that would lead to the village of Lothering. The Dalish, Duncan knew, were confrontational at best when it came to humans. He did not want nor need the forest-dwelling elf to meet with any unless he was nearby to intervene.

"Mahariel," Duncan called as he walked.

The cluster of trees was soon behind him. He came across no sign of his newest recruit. He frowned deeper.

"Mahariel."

As the sun peaked in the sky Duncan paused in the middle of the road and stared behind him. He had continued to Lothering thinking that the girl would at least know which direction to go; if she had decided to return to the clan she had left despite her Keeper's urging to join the Grey Wardens, despite the darkspawn taint that coursed through her veins, she would be a day ahead of him now. He might never find her. At least, not in time.

He cupped his hands around his mouth and drew a breath. "Mahariel!"

There was a shrill scream up ahead and the Grey Warden Commander found himself rushing to the scene. It had become habit for him long ago - running towards danger and the sounds of distress and battle while others ran away, regardless of who or what he might find when he arrived - and it did not matter to him who he might aid. He crested the small hill and stared down at the farmhouse.

There was an oak tree, branches spreading wide into the blue sky, a swing still swaying from the lowest one. A girl raced across the open ground between the oak and a fenced area of cows. A dog sat at the fence, tail wagging, tongue lolling. The girl's parents and brother, Duncan was assuming, were near the fence, grouped together, a hay-fork raised against the young woman that balanced on the railing. She rested her hands on her hips, tilting from side to side in exaggeration, the long red-brown braid falling over first one shoulder and then the other, her Dalish longbow in place on her back, a full quiver at her hip. The dog paced her as she went between the corner post and the next - back and forth and back again.

Duncan sighed. His shoulders eased. He had not realized that he was so tense at discovering the elf was gone.

"Mahariel," he grumbled, his deep voice carrying across the space between them.

Emma spun. She offered a wide smile, her nose crinkling and her eyes half-closing. He hesitated - he had not seen such a sincere smile alight her face before - then walked forward.

"She won't hurt you," the little girl said in a huff, her blonde curls wild around her face, blue eyes wide, arms held out in order to sheild the Dalish elf as she crouched down on the fence post and stared at the nearest cow. "She's my friend. I took her some of my lunch; you said I could. An' she was swingin' with me at the tree. She won't hurt you."

"That is a Dalish, Lita," the father answered angrily. His hold on the tool-turned-weapon was shaky. "She'd take you from us if we didn't know she was here. She's not your friend; she's a -"

"Grey Warden."

The humans turned to face the stranger in his armor and traveling clothes; the elf continued to watch the penned cows. Duncan bowed, arms crossed loosely over his chest in the familiar Fereldan salute.

"I apologize if my apprentice startled you. I am certain that was not her intention." The man turned his chocolate brown gaze on her. She shrugged without looking away from the animals. "At any rate, we shall continue on. I apologize ag-"

"Lita?"

The girl's father started and he raised the hay-fork further. "You told her your name?"

"No! I didn't tell her my name an' she didn't tell me hers since she said she won't be here long 'nough for names to be important."

"Then how -"

"You did call the girl by name earlier," Duncan interjected. "Mahariel," he added with a frown. "Get down from the fence."

The Dalish elf ignored him, turning her bright eyes to the child; she did not seem worried about the farmer's threatening stance. She stood on the fence post again and leaned forward until her hand rested on a brown-spotted cow.

"Lita, what are these?"

That gave the gathered humans pause. They stared with wide disbelieving eyes, half of them with mouths agape. The father loosened his grip on the wooden shaft, the end dipping down to rest in the soft earth. The mother hid a half-smile behind her hand; she did not think it wise to laugh at a Dalish. The boy - older than the girl but still young - stuck his head out from behind his father's leg. He narrowed his blue eyes in question yet voiced nothing. Lita gave a short, airy laugh. Her head tilted to the side and her curls fell over her shoulder. She clasped her hands behind her.

"She didn't know how to swing either."