Waves crashed upon the rocky shore, tugging at Guindaryn's legs as she helped haul the boat up the bank. Gravel crunched beneath her partially bare feet, a forbidding wind whipping through her white hair. The dawn was cold and gray, a blanket of mist hovering over the waters of the Waking Sea. At last, they had reached land, and she could not quite believe that she was taking her first steps on Orlesian soil.

"Unless I am mistaken, we have arrived somewhere between Jader and Halamshiral," said Aenorean, his keen gaze sweeping over the hills that rolled southward for many leagues until they collided with the Frostback Mountains, whose snowcapped peaks resisted the warmth of the rising sun.

"Yes," the Keeper agreed as she drew alongside him. "From here, we will continue our journey south and travel along the western border of the Frostbacks until we reach the heart of the Dales."

"A good plan—in theory," remarked Elgadir. "But word reached you of the wars that rage across these lands long before we set sail. Mages and templars slaughter each other in droves. Freemen and chevaliers bathe the earth in the blood of their own kin. The civil war is tearing Orlais apart. Finding a new home will be no simple task."

"Which is why we will remain close to the mountains, as we discussed," Deshanna insisted, her viridian eyes narrowing with stubborn determination. "Away from the worst of the fighting."

The elder merely lowered his head and closed his eyes, and the Keeper turned from him. Ever since the persecution of their clan had begun under Duke Antoine of Wycome, strife had spread amongst its members like a disease. None of them had agreed on which course of action was best, so they had remained in the Free Marches, trading with the humans as they always had. Only when disaster struck had Keeper Deshanna finally declared that it was time for them to depart. But Elgadir had defied her to the last, until he finally realized that there was no chance of changing her mind.

Hearing a frustrated groan behind her, Guin glanced over her shoulder and saw Haleira hobbling toward them, arm slung over Dhaveir's shoulders. Her once precise and graceful movements had become clumsy and feeble, her features pale and drawn.

"Haleira cannot climb in her current state," he protested. "The snow is deep, as is her wound. Is there nothing more you can do for her?"

"I can, and I will," she shot back, glaring fiercely. "Do not speak on my behalf, brother."

The Keeper looked back at them, her brow furrowing apologetically. "Ir abelas, Dhaveir. I have done all I can. The bleeding has stopped, but I cannot mend rent flesh. It must be allowed to heal on its own time." He sighed and hung his head, expressing the same weariness they all felt gnawing at them. It was the ache in their bones. The weight upon their backs. The heaviness of their footfalls.

"If Dhaveir needs to rest, I will take his place."

At once, all of them turned and looked down at Nehn, whose persistent cheer in the face of their plight warmed their frozen hearts.

First, Dhaveir frowned, but then his lips slowly curved into a smile. "Very well, Nehn. I would welcome a reprieve."

As Haleira draped her arm around the boy's narrow shoulders, the rest of them hoisted their packs and began to walk.

Guindaryn felt some measure of relief at having escaped Duke Antoine and the army of thugs at his disposal, and yet, her gaze often drifted to the glaring trail they left in their wake. Trampled grass. Footprints in the dirt. Dhaveir tread lightly, for he was a hunter trained to escape even the notice of beasts, but Aenorean more than made up for his silence with his heavy footfalls and clinking mail.

She rolled her eyes as he strode proudly alongside the Keeper, chin held aloft. Would it kill him to at least try to be discreet? They were in a foreign land now, and though they had escaped the danger that had plagued them back home, an unknown world with new perils lay before them. The fires of war were raging across Thedas, and Guin feared that they would not find the Dales as welcoming as they had hoped.

LLLLLLLLLL

Crystalline water glided over smooth stones and swirled around tangled moss, spilling into the pool where she soaked her feet. It bubbled and splashed, gently lapping against the grassy bank. The evening air was clear and cool, and she curled her fingers against the soft turf, eyes closed. Everything was so quiet, so peaceful.

Why did she feel uneasy?

Her spirit had become strangely empty, all sense of joy or contentment stripped from her. Hand clutched to her chest, Guindaryn sucked in a sharp breath and scrambled backwards, snatching her legs from the water. Walls of impenetrable rock were closing in around her. She could not get out. She was trapped here—alone. Abandoned.

The earth began to quake, fear swelling inside her until she felt as if she might burst. Desperately, Guin clawed her way forward on her hands and knees, the ground trembling so violently that she could not get a firm grip. First, she had fled from it, but now the pool was her only hope of escape.

Arm outstretched, she reached for its still surface. Her jaw slammed against the splitting soil, and she yelped. Gritting her teeth, Guindaryn dragged herself the last remaining feet and then plunged headfirst into the water.

Silence engulfed her. She tumbled end over end, out of control, completely submerged. Her limbs flailed helplessly, her breath still caught inside her chest. Suddenly, her momentum came to a screeching halt. She crashed into something cold and wet, something that gave way beneath her. Coughing and spluttering, Guin pressed her hands against the powdery substance and pushed herself up onto her hands and knees. Only then did she realize that she was half-buried in a blanket of snow that threatened to swallow her entirely.

Startled, she blinked, tiny flakes falling from her lashes. There was a field of white as far as her eyes could see, rising steadily amidst a maze of jagged peaks that loomed ominously above her, silhouetted against a starless sky. Guindaryn shivered, tugging her scarlet cloak more tightly about her shoulders as she struggled to her feet.

A spine-chilling howl shattered the silence, and she froze. Her heart beat faster, her rapid breaths puffing small clouds into the air. She spun in every direction, seeing nothing but the dark outlines of trees. A fierce wind hissed through their needled limbs, sweeping down the mountainside and tossing her hair. Another shiver ran through her, and Guin swallowed. Then she started to climb.

Frantically, she trudged through the snow, until each intake of breath seared her throat and burned all the way down to her lungs. Her legs grew heavy, and a dull ache began to spread throughout her entire body. She collapsed frequently, her progression slowing with each step she forced herself to take.

Gasping for air, Guindaryn stopped. She doubled over, hands on her knees, chest heaving. She was not going to make it. It was too far. She was going to die out here.

A deep growl rumbled behind her. She jolted upright, then whirled, cloak flying. A monstrous form towered over her, teeth flashing in the darkness—about to devour her.

LLLLLLLLLL

She was wakened by the sound of her own cry. Heart pounding in her ears, Guin sat up, breathing hard. Her eyes darted left and right, skimming over the motionless forms lying in the snow. All of them encircled the remains of a small fire, now extinguished by frost. Their chests rose and fell steadily—peacefully. All was well. It was just a dream.

With a weary sigh of relief, she lowered her face into her hands and tried to calm herself. All of it had seemed so real. But alas, it was only a trick of the Fade. Guindaryn consciously slowed her breathing as she crawled out from beneath her blanket and stood. Shivering and rubbing her arms in an attempt to warm herself, she crept past the sleeping members of her clan and left their modest campsite behind.

Nearly a week had passed since their arrival on the shores of Orlais, and now, they were in the shadow of the Frostback Mountains. Clusters of evergreen trees crowned the crest of the hill where they had decided to settle for the night, providing shelter from prying eyes, but their towering figures only served as reminders of the nightmare she had just endured.

Her knee-length purple tunic, pants, and leg wraps did little to shield her from the penetrating cold, and she longed for her cloak or her heavier robe, both of which had been left behind in the chaos of their escape from the sinking merchant ship. All Guin had now was the clothes upon her back, what few food and water rations remained, and her family.

As she came to the fringes of the firs, where the hill began its rapid descent, she stopped and surveyed the land that rolled out below her like a pristine carpet, white and unblemished in the light of the moon. Beyond those sloping fields, many leagues northward, the sea glittered like glass, splendid and serene.

Family…

Reaching up, she slipped her fingers beneath the thick black scarf that was wrapped snugly around her neck, and they closed around something smooth, something solid. A stone. A precious gem that was always there, dangling from a silver chain.

"Something troubles you, da'len?"

With a startled gasp, Guindaryn spun to see Deshanna standing quietly behind her. "Keeper! I…I did not realize you were there."

Smiling sadly, Deshanna advanced to the side of her First, staff in hand. "I heard your cry as you slept."

Guin's cheeks flushed with embarrassment, and she bowed her head. "I…had another unpleasant dream."

"Another?"

"Yes, it…" She trailed off uncertainly, not knowing how to explain. "The first came the night of the storm. It was so real, more vivid than ever before. It's like I'm awake, like I'm there. I'm always hunting, or being hunted…"

"It is the Fade," Deshanna said simply. "It reveals ancient truths and hidden secrets whilst we explore it in our dreams, but it also tells lies and deceives us. You must be cautious, da'len, as I have always taught you. Evil spirits can take many guises."

"I know, Keeper."

Deshanna placed a firm, reassuring hand on her shoulder. "You have always been wise beyond your years, Guindaryn. What lessons lie before you now, I can only guess. But I have no doubt that you will rise to meet those challenges. After all, you did have a highly insightful and skillful mentor."

She was smirking, a playful twinkle in her eye, but Guin frowned. "You're talking as if you have nothing left to teach me."

"I have taught you everything I know."

"That's not true," she objected kindly, shaking her head. "About magic? Maybe. But I am still learning from you. Without your leadership, we would not be here. Clan Lavellan would still be in the Free Marches."

"Whether or not that decision was a wise one remains to be seen," the Keeper replied, her expression becoming grave as she turned away from the snow-kissed hills. "Come, da'len. We should return to the others."