Rosa wiped the sweat from her eyes and returned once again to pulling the wire barbs from the mabari's rear leg. It was now lying quite still but whined plaintively as she examined the wound.
"Poor boy," she said. "Not a very friendly trap, was it?"
Nathaniel rolled his eyes. "Are you done?"
Rosa stuck her tongue out and held out a hand for the bandages. He handed them to her then stood up stretched, casting his gaze about the clearing.
"You know why they're called the Emerald Graves?" he asked. "They say that each tree is a gravestone for every elf that died in the war."
"Which war?" Rosa asked, sweetly, bobbing her head to one side so that her hair slid back revealing her pointed ears.
"Oh ha ha, you know which war." He sighed, watching Rosa assist the wounded dog onto the wagon. "You won't get any thanks, you know," he observed.
"I don't do it for the thanks," Rosa grinned. "I do it for the free drinks."
"Do you ever take anything seriously?"
Rosa frowned, gazing at the ancient trees. For a moment, she looked like one of the ancient elves from the picture books that Nathaniel had read as a child. She had dark skin and bright brown eyes that were flecked with red which is how, he imagined, she got her name. Typical of elf kind, she was slender and delicate but over the months they had worked together, he had seen her muscles become more defined and she no longer looked like she would blow over in a sudden breeze. She was beautiful, he realised, when she wasn't pulling faces or goofing around. How she had not been married off during her life in the alienage eluded him.
Rosa sighed and slowly turned to him, meeting his eyes as though she was waking from a dream.
She blew a raspberry, covering him in spit. "Not really. Can we return to camp now? I'm hungry!"
The camp was half a mile away and they made good time, arriving just as the deer meat had cooked through and the soup had boiled. Rosa left Nathaniel to sort the wagon and guided the injured mabari to its pen.
"He'll need rest but it shouldn't take long to heal. He was smart enough to not strain too much when the snare tightened."
"Of course," the kennel master grunted. "I only breed the finest mabaris in Ferelden. None of these snivelling Orlaisian dogs we see about."
"You still talking about the animals or...?" Rosa asked and the kennel master laughed.
"Save me some of that stew will ya?" he chuckled. "I'll join once the pack is fed."
Rosa weaved in and out of the crowd and with a charming smile and a joke to the cook, met Nathaniel once more by one of the small camp fires juggling three bowls of stew.
"Maker's breath, Rosa, how do you do it?" Nathaniel gasped as she handed him a bowl. "Cook's been generous, too."
"I'm just friendly, Nate," she said, sitting down beside him. "You should try it some time."
Dusk was setting in. The waning sunlight spread out like fingers through the trees, dappling the campsite in yellow light and blue shadows. News had returned that the area had been cleared of bandits and the Inquisitor herself would be joining them that night.
"Better wear that extra pair of breeches, Nate," Rosa remarked. "There'll be no tents for us tonight."
The kennel master, Marric, joined them just as they had removed their bedrolls from one of the tents. Rosa had managed to keep the stew somewhat warm by the campfire but not that it mattered, Marric guzzled it down like a wolf in a blood frenzy.
Named after a king, thought Nathaniel, as Marric's beard became splattered with remnants of vegetable and strings of meat.
"So, Marric," Nathaniel began, Rosa's words about being friendly echoing in his mind. "That's a... nice beard you have there. How did you grow it so... thoroughly?"
Marric paused in his devouring and stared at Nathaniel.
"You know, I was thinking of growing one myself," Nathaniel continued. "The trek down the mountains from Skyhold can leave me quite frozen. Do you have any tips on growing one as fine as yours?"
Rosa covered her mouth, her shoulders beginning to shake. Marric swallowed and wiped his mouth on his sleeve, never taking his eyes off Nathaniel.
He said, "Grow some-" but was cut off by the bell signalling the Inquisitor's arrival.
The camp groaned to its feet, the last of the bed rolls cleared from the four tents needed for the Inquisitor and her companions. The cook added fresh vegetables and meat to the stew and stirred vigorously, scooping off the froth congealing on the surface. One of her maids sat beside her, peeling and cutting up fruit.
"That means the Tevinter is with her," grunted Marric. "No stomach for a real meal."