She turned, slowly dragging her right arm out from under her and rolled onto her back, reaching up to wipe sweaty hair off of her face. While her left hand made it to its destination, her right rose a few inches and flopped back down to her side. Eve sighed. Sleeping so many days in a wagon was uncomfortable, and she tired of waking each day with a body mistreated by hard wood covered by an inadequately thin bedroll. And it was hot. She'd sworn yesterday a drop of water she'd accidentally splashed from her drinking skin had actually sizzled as it hit the baked ground. She considered trying to sleep again, but hard wooden wagon bottoms were not conducive to rest. She pushed aside her regular morning fantasy of burning the cart to a pile of ash and rose quietly, careful not to wake Miri, who shared her personal little purgatory. After massaging her sleeping arm back to life, she set about kneading the various aches and pains of the night from the rest of her body.
While the first part of the journey from Ferelden had included wagon travel, they had had the sweet mercy of cool air, and there were enough horses that she was sometimes allowed to ride. The nights had even been chill on occasion, and she guiltily remembered her complaints for wanting an extra blanket. The sail from Ferelden to the Free Marches had not been much worse. After all, the hard bottom of a wagon is the same as the hard floor of a ship's hold. But it had bored her. The only scenery was water. She had looked forward to traveling on land again, but the scrubby semi-arid landscape combined with the miserable heat had only worsened everyone's moods in the last few days.
"Mmm, thank Andraste's sweet beautiful ass we've only one more day until real beds and a bath." It appeared her care to not wake Miri was unnecessary.
Eve grunted in agreement as they both pulled on clothes and boots before wandering off to find a decent sized shrub.
They hadn't been the first to wake. Someone was cooking, and the tantalizing scent of bacon and fry bread improved her mood. The camp was humming with preparations for starting their daily trek. She noticed some poor sods were actually still donning their armor each morning. It was a testament to the discipline of templars that they could stand wearing the stuff in this heat, although most tied their helmets to a saddle. Some had taken to using white sheets as cloaks to keep the sun off. She passed Sam, his forehead already glistening slightly as he sat fastening his breastplate. She grinned at him and fanned herself dramatically with her hat. She caught and tossed back the helmet that came amiably sailing towards her head and walked off, grinning over her shoulder and sticking her tongue out at him. She had it relatively easy she supposed. Most of those not required to wear armor had taken to loose tunics and trousers instead of the heavier robes they'd worn back in Ferelden.
She was gratified to see that her apprentice was awake and that he came towards her bearing two platefuls of breakfast. Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. She knew exactly what he was buttering her up for as he handed her the second plate. She sat, not quite feigning the tiredness on her face as she ate her breakfast with her eyes closed, pretending not to notice his eagerness to ask her if there would be a lesson. He knew better than to push, and the silence continued. It was terribly amusing to see him trying so hard to behave. She could sense him fidgeting, then trying not to fidget, and then fidgeting again. After a few cycles of such, she finally had mercy. She peaked sideways under an eyelid, "You realize I'm giving up my turn to ride today."
He grinned, knowing he'd won. He had the good grace to muster some guilt in his expression at her giving up her chance to escape the wagon. Magic, especially with all the mistakes apprentices could make with it, made the horses nervous. She secretly hoped he'd burn down the wagon anyways.
He walked backwards slowly with their empty plates, hesitant about his next question, "Tommy asked if he could join….?"
Her lips thinned a fraction. "Roland."
He danced off, waving his hands. "Yes, yes, but I promised to ask."
Individual lessons had become less tricky as Roland had gotten older. When apprentices were young, they were taught in groups, but as they grew older, it was expected that they would need more personal lessons tailored to their abilities and specialties. The difficult part was making sure no one was quite close enough to hear their spells, or rather note the complete silence and stillness with which he cast them. So after everyone was settled into a wagon or on a horse, and no one was riding too near, they began.