A breath, a gasp, a wince as thorns caught on his ankles, tearing thin bloody lines through the delicate skin. Sweaty cloth clung tightly to his skin, brass-blond hair torn from its tie by the branches of tangled trees.

Anders cursed under his breath when his foot slipped on the wet-rot of a tree fallen to decay. His knee jarred, pain jolting up from it, and Anders only paused for the barest of moments to slap healing magic at it before he was limping through the thick forest once more.

Behind him - how far behind, he didn't know - far enough that he couldn't hear their footsteps or clanking armor, Templars were in pursuit. Anders didn't dare stop to check, the hopelessness of it all still catching in each breath and stumbled step. They had his phylactery, his blood - they'd find him eventually.

But still, it was worth it. This was worth it. This run in the open, under twilight clouds staining the mountain slope golden, a fresh breeze chilling his skin with winds swept from far away.

Freedom was worth the run, if only for the hope of someday escaping for good.

He staggered to a halt, sucking in breaths and privately wishing he'd spent more time exercising to strengthen his poor lungs. His legs felt soupy despite the magic he pumped into them, and his aching knee was bound to give out sooner or later.

Anders sagged against the tree, tilting his head back in a halfhearted attempt to urge his throat to let more air in, to calm the painful squeeze of overtaxed lungs. He swallowed, and even the brief pause in breathing was torturous.
A moment later he sucked it in to hold it, ears straining after a quiet crackle-snap of sticks told him someone else was near.

Please, not the Templars. Not so soon. Maker, give me just a little more time.

He clutched his staff to his chest, breath wheezing despite the attempt to quiet it, and he leaned just slightly to peek around his tree to see what was crushing leaves so loudly.

A flash of red and pale silver, and he tucked back behind the tree trying desperately to hold his breath. His heart punched the inside of his ribs, muscles trembling in unpleasant preparation for the inevitable wash of gut-wrenching silence .

But… it never came.

Something groaned, an animal sound that no Templar would willingly make (the proud bastards) and Anders dared sneak another glance.

Given more than just a quick glance, the silver turned out to be the white hide of an animal, red a bright spot of blood on its flank, trailing in dark crusting ribbons down its leg. It seemed to spot him the same moment he realized what it was, and the white deer lowered its antlers, moaning warningly at him.

The first emotion plowing into him was fear. First, having a large animal point its rather stabby weapons in your direction tended to have that effect. Plus, the legendary animal put a lot more credence to the tales of Dalish guardians in the forest, ancient beings who'd quicker slit a human's throat for trespassing than let one run through the woods.

Finally, he recognized the fletching, the same golden-with-speckles that the town's chicken flocks sported. Even if he were to escape into the forest, if any elf (if they did exist) stumbled across that beast, they'd probably blame him for it. The lore was rather particular about how much they revered their deer.
Terrific.

Anders craned his ears for any clanking or footsteps, but found none.

He swore under his breath, looking around for any sign that some fey creature was about to drop out of the branches to stab him.
Nothing again.
Maker save my skinny ass, I'm going in!

He stepped away from the tree, flinching a little when the beast startled, yelping as if it had forgotten he was there. It tossed its head, clearly favoring the wounded hind leg as it hopped to face its antlers toward him.
"H-hey there, I'm not going to hurt you." He tried, but the animal just lowered its head further, stomping pointedly.
"I know, I know, you're hurt, and I'm probably the last person you want to see. But, I'm a healer, alright? I can heal you, if you'd let me. See?" He didn't know why he was babbling to the creature exactly, but it wasn't charging yet, so hopefully he was doing something right. Anders lifted his robe a little to show his scratched-up ankles, a sputtering flare of blue magic closing the little wounds, and he rubbed the blood off a moment later.

"See? All better." He hoped he wasn't imagining the intelligent gleam in its black eyes. He REALLY hoped he wasn't just projecting mercy on an injured, angry animal.
"So, I'm going to try healing that, alright? So, Please don't gore me, or anything. I like my organs where they are, thanks."
Anders shuffled sideways, surprised that the deer swiveled its head to watch him, but didn't try to skitter away. Maybe the elves trained their deer to seek help? It would make sense in a weird way. Then again, he didn't think elves existed until just now, so maybe it was a stretch of wishful thinking.

He took a breath, leaning his staff against the tree and showing the animal his empty palm, and hesitently edged toward it. He twitched when it stamped the ground, pausing for a few heart-wrenching moments when the deer turned and walked toward him. He held himself still, praying in the back of his head that this wasn't how he died, being a stupid bleeding-hearted fool who walked up to a wild animal, only to be gored to death.
But then- the moment passed. The deer whuffed at his outstretched hand, peered at him with huge black eyes lined with white lashes, and turned to sniff at a bush next to him, presenting its side. Anders let out a shivery breath he didn't realize he'd been holding, keeping a careful eye on its swivling ears as he reached out and gingerly touched its shoulder. He jumped a little with the skin twitched, and an ear twisted toward him, but the deer didn't otherwise move.
"Alright." He whispered, equal parts awed and terrified, "Alright, I guess this is happening."
He carefully trailed his hand down its pale side, examining the wound more closely now that he had the chance.
Anders winced sympathetically as his magic sank into it, the echoes of pain and damage twanging harshly against the open sense that earned him the title "Spirit healer" back in the circle.
"Pretty rough, huh. Don't worry, I'll fix you up." He mumbled it mostly under his breath, palm nestling into bloody fur to send little pulses of numbing magic to the area, trying to ignore the way the deer twisted to watch him, twisting antlers uncomfortably close to the side of his head. He could feel its warm breath gusting over the side of his neck, sending goosebumps down his arms.

"Pleasedon'tkillme"
The plea was muttered under his breath as he grasped the arrow shaft, sending a bit more numbing for good measure, bracing his shoulders and jerking the arrow out the way it went in.
The deer yelped, jumping away even as he apologized, holding out a splayed hand as he dropped the arrow and tried to shake blood off the other.

To his surprise, it approached him immediately, leaning down to sniff the arrow and letting him shakily step around to access its wounded flank. The rest was easy enough, despite the difference in species. He let a whisper of a plea bleed into the veil, and a familiar-feeling spirit answered, lending its energy to let him heal far past what is own reserves would allow. Compassion, probably. Or kindness. A sort of calm peace settled around him, and from the slowing breaths and lazy hang of the beast's head, it could feel it as well.

The flesh knitted under his palm, pain smoothing away until there was nothing but a silvery scar parting the blood-caked fur.

He protested weakly when the deer butted against his shoulder, twisting around to examine its own flank, licking at the blood in an attempt to clean the area. It abandoned the gesture a moment later, bumping him again with its soft nose and surprising him when it let him scratch its forehead, rubbing against him like an overlarge cat.
Anders laughed, feeling the spirit bleed away from him as he smoothed his hands over the elegant curves of its head, up the twisting antlers, or… horns? The intricate spirals, now that he looked at them, bore tiny carvings of leaves and twisting vines, tiny jagged forms he could only assume were letters smaller than his pinkie nail, looping around the creature's crown.

"It must have taken years to make this…" he murmured, sliding a thumb over the carvings, reminding himself that antlers were shed each year, covered in velvet until the last moment - horns grew continuously. He pushed its head away when it started mouthing at his pocket, laughing a little. The sound broke off when its head whipped up, staring at something over his shoulder, and Anders realized he'd gotten caught up for far too long.

The deer lunged away, bounding in great leaps into the forest shadows. He cursed, grabbing his staff and making a break for a slope, but the heavy footsteps and clanking armor was too close, His magic ached as it was snapped off from the harmony of the world, the whispering melody of spirits and soft hum of the life around him abruptly slicing into silence . He couldn't help but stumble, only barely catching himself on a tree, but not enough to stop the hands from wrenching his staff out of his hands, arms twisting behind him to snap into shackles.
Ser Enri sighed, dragging him none-too-gently back the way they came, easily hoisting up the slender man as he kicked and squirmed despite his restraints.

"C'mon, Anders. It's too late, now."
Anders shot him an acidic glare, yanking again for good measure before falling into step, too used to being caught to pretend to think he could escape now. Anders twisted to look over his shoulder, hoping to catch a glimpse-

The punishment for trying to become an apostate was not a pleasant one. No punishment was, truly, but the Templars were beginning to get tired of chasing him, and the First Enchanter was tiring of defending him, and somewhere along the line someone decided that perhaps a harsher punishment would discourage him more than simple privilage restrictions had been, and the only thing worse than the lashes striping hot fire across his back was the blight-damned silence crushing around him.

When Anders curled up in his bunk that night, skin tight and aching after he finished healing it, the spirits still hovered on the edges of his awareness, compassion and fortitude and hope whispering soft, worried sentiments that he didn't quite understand. He buried his face in his pillow, trying to hold those moments of freedom in his heart. Trying to grind the memory of open skies and lush vegetation and the warm, white fur into his mind, so he could recall it forever. He exhaled slowly, staring up at the passing clouds visible through the slit of his window and relishing defiantly in the lovely splash of white looking back at him, even as he was dragged back to this prison . Those warm, dark eyes watching him. The Halla that he'd healed, who still had freedom.

Anders tightened his grip on his pillow, knuckles aching with it, and tried to remember