Days pass into long, unending months, but I wouldn't have known it if not for the change in season, colors bleeding beautifully into each other with the fall of fruit and leaf. The river widens and washes out toward the sea, but the feral wolves have taken the land near the coast, bringing with them a strange curse. Old magic, I knew, but not ancient.

The daisies are in bloom again. Her favorite. I take a few blossoms to dry and lay them among an assortment of herbs and flowers I had gathered through the year. She loves the scented pouches I make. He did too. I make two. I leave one beneath the eaves of a young tree sapling with a solemn prayer. The other I tuck into the folds of my blanket to preserve the sweet fragrance, sealing the corners with a kiss and a dare to hope.

Keeper wants us to move. The curse is spreading deeper into the forest, and our clan, a small and vulnerable clan, is in danger. We argue. What if she returns only to find us gone? I say. She can never return! You are foolish to hope! Keeper snaps, and the wind roars in my ears as my world shatters at my feet. She cannot return. She can not. Keeper has forbidden it. That's right. I remember now. Then I remember no more.

The new land is strange, all rocky cliffs and jagged edges. I hate it, but I hide it. My place is with my people, my purpose to preserve our dying pride. They hate me, and I hide myself. Into the depths of my being I find solace, in that one hollow place where love's lost song and hope's last whisper go to die.

I am dead. The world is saved and safe once more but not for me. Here I lie in the searing cold embrace of rage and despair, cradled in the ebb and flow of misery. Seasons change, and I ride against it with a vengeance. How dare they take her away? How. Dare. They?

A storm approaches, and I face it head on. It hurts, but I bear it. It strikes where my blood runs most freely, and the pain - the pain is glorious and so, so liberating. O wondrous Creators, I feel!

And I laugh. And laugh. Sweet release and wonder, my heart flutters like a bird's wing, and my soul soars high above the heavens to where the secrets lie. The secrets I can nearly…just barely…

Keeper knows.

The delicate piece of glass in my hand chips at the corner when she tells me, and I take pleasure in her flinch when I turn my hard gaze on her. Magic rests just behind my eyes; I feel it. I do nothing to hide the dark crimson markings on the ground, almost daring her to look and see. Look and see what you've driven me to.

I frighten the clan, she says. Good. Let them fear me. I never expected them to understand my purpose or appreciate my efforts.I do this for them. Keeper knows this. Keeper must know this.

She does, and when she looks at me with those pitying eyes, eyes that have seen many beautiful and terrible things while revealing nothing at all, and says,Oh, da'len, I never should have taken you in, I tell her, quite simply, to get out.

I never thought there'd come a day when I'd leave my clan. The People are all I ever knew, but as First of my clan, I also know that we are too small to allow any conflict to divide us. I am that conflict. So I decide to leave.

Hawke keeps good if not strange company. Fenris and Anders, in particular, share a dislike for me, which I hear is odd because they never agree on anything. It is actually quite fun to see how they bicker when Hawke takes us out. It reminds me a lot of…of Tamlen. And Mahariel. They never saw eye to eye either, and more often than not, their arguments resulted in full blown fights that Keeper…

…that Keeper…

I remind myself that this was my decision. I am doing this for my clan. I cannot afford to have regrets.

Carver is wary but does not judge me, and for that I am grateful. I'm glad that despite his reservations, he does try to speak with me, which is more than I can say about my clan - no, stop thinking on it.

Sebastian seems curious about Dalish culture and customs, and I admit it is nice to be able to think back on fonder memories, of peaceful times where the only adventures we had were accidentally antagonizing mother bears and happening upon wandering spirits and spirit lures in the Brecilian Forest. He likes those stories best, and I like hearing his rich laughter when I tell him how much of a hellion Mahariel used to be. Mm. The pain is still there, I know, but it is buried under purpose. For my clan. Always for my clan.

Aveline visits me a lot when she's on patrol. I like to think that she is the Keeper here even if Hawke is the one who leads. She and Varric both see to it that I am taken care of. They both have gotten me out of some terrible situations mostly due to carelessness on my part. I still cannot believe how a flower garden is not shared among the people. How the shemlen could wish to monopolize these small patches of beauty, I cannot begin to understand. Varric brings me flowers every week, though, and I make him scented pouches to hang over his fireplace at the Hanged Man. It is one of the reasons why even if I hate that Varric calls me 'Daisy', I would never tell him so.

Isabela calls me 'kitten', and I…I think I like it. I tell her this one day, and she just laughs. Oh, her laughter is so beautiful. It reminds me of the sea, of the one time Mahariel and I accompanied our traders to Gwaren. We stood on a hill overlooking the coast, holding hands and making childhood promises to sail the seas together one day. And just before I dwell too hard on the fact that those dreams have long since sailed without us, Isabela swoops in with a roguish smirk and brushes the gentlest of kisses upon my brow. Suddenly I am on my feet again and feel as though I can make a hundred more of such promises so long as they're with her.

She sees; I'm sure of it. The broken thing that lurks behind my eyes. And I see the way her strength shines through hers. I want to rekindle that fire, I tell her. Her smile is as gentle as her kisses, and she says, Then break the chains that bind your soul and come fly with me.

And I do. This time, I really do.