The heady smell of wood, herbs, and furs hang in the dry air. The scent sits heavily on my tongue, pulling me fully from my dreams. Illuminated above me are large wooden beams, the creaking of wood and muted whispers of shifting fabric echo around me.

I shift; the thick furs slide from my body. Goose bumps wash over my skin, spurring a shiver through me. My hazy gaze travels across numerous shelves, they house a variety of healing potions and poultices. Drying herbs hang from the beams, swaying with the familiar movement of an aravel. Slowly my memory begins to return, fragments falling into place.

I had fallen at the edge of the grove, the taste of dirt and bracken ghost across my tongue. There had been leaves crunching, rhythmically, a large warmth encircled me.

I have been found.

My skin prickles as I cast a quick glance around the room. Waiting for movement, for eyes to meet my own. But all I see is swaying herbs, the slight shifting of glass in the wooden shelves.

Pushing off the furs, I shakily rise to my feet. A ghost of a thought crosses my mind, a splint and swollen ankle. However, my legs only quiver at the sudden use rather than pain. The lack of that draws my eyes downward. Yet, all I find is smooth skin; no discoloration, no swelling, no splint. With a flex of my toes, I take a few steps from the bedroll. Despite my trembling legs, I manage to stay upright.

How long have I been asleep? How long have we been traveling? What clan was I with?

My eyes turn back to the shelves, searching for some clue but only find the glass jars they hold. Some are stuffed with herbs, other let off a faint glow as their held liquid slosh about. The curiosity draws me near. The dull lantern glow mixes with the eerie back light of the unfamiliar potions illuminate the carvings of different flora and fauna on the edge of the shelves. Such ordinate craftsmanship holds my attention. The work of a forager clan, or perhaps traders. I gently drag my fingers along the carvings tracing the edge as I move along the shelves. Hanging herbs brush against my cheek, their heavy scent mixes with the lingering taste of potions as I take one breath after another. Each one spreads the sharp bitterness of elfroot and the sweetness of poppy thickly on my tongue. Continuing past the herbs, I skirt around a few chests, the darkness seems thicker than usual as my eyes strain to see simple shapes.

The aravel stops with a lurch, pitching me sideways and into the wall. The familiar clamor of opening aravels and the rustling of closing sails muffle voices shouting directions and unfamiliar elven. Right as I push myself back to my feet, there is a soft click and the door hatch opens an arm's length away from me.

Dying light of the sun streams in through the trees outside, blinding me further as footsteps echo on the ramp. A blurry shape stops in the door way and I rub my eyes, rapidly blinking as my eyes begin to focus. Before me stands a woman, far taller than any other I've seen. She stares at me with a raised brow, the lines of the raven of Dirthamen crinkle along her forehead. Her form is slender, clothed in thin layered robes that drapes around her. Multitudes of braids, the color of faded ironbark glows in the golden light of the falling sun. Braids that are interwoven with beads and colorful ribbons tumble down her shoulders, framing her stern face. Her expression melts into something softer as she kneels before me.

"I'm glad to see you awake, da'len."

Very suddenly, I'm hyper aware of my nudity as I catch a glimpse of additional eyes standing behind her, just in view of the door way. All wide and curious, all burning into me as they meet my gaze. She glances over her shoulder, clearing her throat. They quickly scatter back to their tasks; collapsing sails, expanding aravels, and building fires. We watch them for a moment longer till she turns back to me.

"My apologies, da'len. We have all been very worried; some feared you would be lost to us. When Inan found you, you were in quite a state."

She stands; my mouth suddenly feeling as if stuffed with halla fur when I go to shape the words burning on my tongue. Questions that remain unspoken as she moves further into the aravel, stopping before a chest. I trail after her as she begins rooting through the chest; my eyes land on a collection of things beside her. My pack, bow, and quiver. How in Andruil's name had I miss them before?

She lets out a soft hum, returning my attention to her and the light green tunic she was holding up. Then, with a warm smile, she refolds it before extending it and three other articles to me. The faint sent of lavender tickles my nose as I gently take the bundle from her. The fabric is smooth, cool, and much thinner than anything I've worn before. The texture was marvelous.

"How about you dress, then come see me outside. Dinner will be ready then."

I step back with a jolt, pulling me from the bundle in my hands as her fingers softly brushing against my cheek. Her smile falls, brow furrowing just slightly. Fear clenches my gut, her hand lingers for a heartbeat more before hesitantly returning to her sash.

"Ir abelas, I should not be so familiar with you, da'len. Come see me when you are done, we will get you food and I shall answer any questions you might have."

Another smile tugs at her cheeks, although this one seems to lack the warmth the others had held. Clearly, I have upset her. But as I watch her, I fail to spot the coldness in her that my Keeper had held. She gives me a small nod as she moves past and exits the aravel. I continue to stare after her for a moment longer before turning to the clothes and moving back to the bedroll.

Along with the tunic there is a pair of dark brown leggings, and two rolls of wrappings. The leggings and tunic slip on easily enough; the tunic hanging farther past my knees than proper and the leggings bunching around my ankles in an embarrassing amount. Though their largeness didn't diminish their softness or warmth. The fabrics thinness was deceiving as the evening breeze nipped at my skin a little less. Forgoing the wraps, I pad out of the aravel; stepping off the ramp and letting the cool forest floor sinking into my toes.

My eyes scan the clearing, the forest having now turned dark. It was peaceful, cloaked in a purple hue that mixes with the soft blue light of the full moon resting high above the trees. Five or six fires burn brightly in the clearing, each one surrounded by fifteen or so people. Laughter and music came from all around the clearing, children ran about and there was a small cluster dancing. This clan was far larger than mine or any of the clans I'd seen before.

A rich smell hangs in the air, as I near the closest fire it grows in its intensity. My mouth begins to water, a growl echoes from my stomach as my eyes focus past the crowd and on the large bubbling pot over the fire. The woman from earlier stands next to the pot, stirring and occasionally tossing in herbs as she chatters with those around her. Something she says leads the crowd into a roar of laughter, all of whom I note, have vallaslin.

My steps still and unease blooms in my belly as I take in one marked face after another. This is obviously not a place for those my age; although, she had said to find her after I dressed. Biting my lip, I roll it between my teeth. Clearly, this is a gathering for the adults of this clan; there wasn't a babe among them. For all I knew, they could be discussing something not meant for my ears, and since they weren't of my clan I had no right. My shoulders drop as a sigh escapes me, I turn to wait by the aravel, only to stop short when I catch sight of a man watching me from the edge of the firelight.

His features are stern, harsh eyes and the sage colored lines of Mythal glimmer in the dim light. He jerks his head toward the woman, wedging a sliver of fear into my chest as our gazes stay locked together. Though as my inaction lingers, his brow pinches and lips thin. The clear distaste for my lingering was clear as he disappears into the crowd. A silence overcomes the crowd, and slowly their attention turns away from the center of the group. My pulse thuds in my ears, a chill settling in my veins as each set of eyes turn on me. I glance towards the slim opening between two aravels, if I moved now, I should still-

"Da'len, they suit you well."

The woman parts the crowd, carrying two bowls as she nods towards my attire. A short chuckle comes from the man trailing behind her, the man with the harsh eyes. A sentiment we share as I toe the bunched fabric around my ankle.

"Ignore him for the moment, da'len. You must be starving," she lifts the bowls a little higher and nods towards something over my shoulder, "We can settle over there."

Turning in the direction she gestured to, a small fire glows against the dark just beyond the aravel I came from. She breaks away from the crowd, stopping a few paces away from me till I fall in step with her. As we walk in near silence, the man shadows us. His steps silent as we make our way past the aravels.

I watch him, my eyes following him as he settles onto a fallen tree. His bulky mass filling the small space. His form declares his warrior status, as does the sword bouncing against his hip. The woman takes the log at the head of the fire, leaving only a seat between the two of them. I hesitate for a moment, but one look from him sends my feet moving.

"Where am I?"

Pain lances my throat, the words scrape against my throat, weighing down my tongue as I force them past my lips. The woman holds out a water skin, I regard it silently as my tongue runs over my lips; brushing against the chapped skin.

" Da'lan, ma nadas numaval. Drink."

Rolling my lower lip between my teeth I hesitate, but her expression turns softer and I quickly take the water skin. I've never met someone with such kind eyes, she was the kind of person I wasn't familiar dealing with. I feel her eyes on me as I take a sip; lingering on me as I take in the bite of mint washing across my tongue, the faint taste of citrus. After a few more mouthfuls, I return the skin. She is giving me another warm smile while corking the skin, laying it across the log before passing me a bowl.

"Well, we are of the Clan Shalelan. I am the Keeper, Rogelan Shalelan." She gestures to the man on my left, "This is Inan. He found you just off the Imperial Highway; near the eastern branch of Drakon River. We are making our way to Highever."

My brow furrows, a shemlen town, for trade? My eyes flick to the shadows of the circled aravels. The folded sails held the hues of faint browns, lines of white and green flow across the pleats. No, wrong colors.

"From there, we are hoping to catch a ferry that will land us just outside of Kirkwall."

My eyes widen, my grip on the bowl turns tight. Yet she sits there relaxed, sipping her soup and fishing out a bite of meat and some chopped root.

"Why? What's in the Free Marches? Kirkwall?"

The corners of her mouth tug downward as she chews; after swallowing thickly she focuses on the fire. Her eyes turning cold as she stares.

"Because of banalhan, The Blight, has not been kind to our clan. We lost quite a few to the sickness it spreads; but we are still a large clan, one in need of new blood. Since Arlathvhen has been cancelled, we must travel to trade with others. There is Clan Lavellan, another clan in desperate need of new blood. They among many other reside in the Free Marches. Fereldan is becoming barren of our people so, we are leaving. Not only to get away from the banalhan, but to trade with Clan Lavellan, to be among more of our people."

I nod slowly as a moment of silence settles between us. She continues to eat while I mull over her words, thoughts of my clan looming in the back of my mind. Would they have survived if we had moved on like Clan Shalelan? Would we have been able to avoid the banalhan?

"What of your clan?"

A rough voice kills the silence; I meet Inan's sharp gaze; holding it. As our stares linger, his eyes narrow and shoulders square. Swallowing past the lump in my throat, I do the same before letting the words tumble past my lips, rolling of my tongue like some half-truth. Hollow and cold.

"They're dead."

The crackling fire is suddenly too loud; my ears prickle as hot tears burn my eyes. I struggle to hold them down as I avoid their shocked stares. Inan's gaze crawls over me as the silence drags on, the demand for further explanation is almost tangible. An explanation I almost want to give, despite how heavy the words feel, how thick I'm sure my voice will come out.

"I never caught your name da'lan."

Keeper Rogelan softly breaks the silence, giving me an out from Inan's consuming gaze. These words come out easier but my voice is still thick with tears.

"Isala."

There is another lengthy pause, another expectation. I kneading my lower lip between my teeth as I mull over the thought of telling them of my clan. The Ravassan clan was not welcomed among other Dalish. If I told them, they would reject me, leave me here in the middle of the woods or worse. A tendril of fear anchors itself in my gut as the pause drew out, my breaths seemed harder to find.

"Da'lan, I am sorry to ask, but…" Keeper Rogelan soft voice seems almost alarmingly loud in this moment, "what happened to your clan? Was it humans? Darkspawn?"

This wouldn't be something I need to hide, would it? The thought disappears as the wind changes; smoke begins to smother us, it burns my eyes and with my next breath the phantom smell of blood, metal and churned dirt. Distant laughter twists into cries of battle, clatter of dishes become clashing weapons, limp armor clad forms falling to the ground. The moist ground is wet with Mamae's blood, once again pooling beneath me. I'm cold, damp, my stomach lurches as everything begins to shake. By the gods was it another ogre?

"—'lan, da'lan? Isala?"

Arms cling tightly around me, the aroma of herbs and wood mix with thick scent of a summer storm. It prickles at my skin, the sharp taste of metal washes over my tongue. A voice speaks softly, whispering against my ear as thick hair and beads press against my cheek. All of which get washed away as a burst of cold air cuts into me.

"Isala are you back with us?"

The soft voice becomes familiar. The hurried words of worry are spoken against my ear, yet seem so far away. Everything is slowly comes to me, filtering through like voices under water. I stare up at Rogelan the fire light sparkling across her cheeks, small white crystals dust her skin. Reaching up, I brush her cheek; sweeping away the ice only to see larger, thick ones growing from the back of my hand. I stare, my breath caught in my throat as I slowly turn my gaze downwards. Ice encases my feet; sprawling outward they cover a good five feet before trailing off into a light dusting. Ice climbs over stumps, some creep up the stones lining the fire yet remain frozen; not a drip in sight. It was unnatural.

"...I did this?"

The question comes out soft, as if the words were spoken by another and not by my own lips. Rogelan brushes hair from my cheeks, her hands seem almost too hot against my own skin.

"You did not know you were an erelan, a mage?"

I shake my head slowly; her brow crumples with something akin to worry or surprise, maybe both.

"I—I didn't know till the ogre..."

She looks past me, most likely towards Inan but it's a thought that barely registers. Her hands slide down my arms, uncomfortably warm. There is a quick flash of movement just over her shoulder and eyes, so many eyes. My breath sticks in my throat, a chilling sound echoes in around me as I feel the log disappear from beneath me. A sickening crunch of ice rings in my ears as I crash into the ground. Five or six pairs of eyes stare back at me from beneath the aravel, my throat grow tight and the world begins to spin. Then all I see is Rogelan; colorful braids, calm eyes, and a gentle smile.

"Da'lan, Isala, deep breaths. Take deep breaths da'lan. Center yourself. Feel your feet and how they connect to the earth."

I gulp in air desperately, our eyes locked together as she takes slow deep breaths. Hot hands grip my ankles, pulling them from the ice; pressing them against the frosted grass. Gentle fingers splay across my feet, sliding up my calves to my knees.

"Feel my touch. Feel the earth beneath you. The summer breeze against your cheek. Ground yourself da'lan. Come back to us. You are safe."

Rogelan's hands feel cooler when they fall on my shoulders; I curl my toes into the dirt and lean forward. We sit there for a moment; my forehead resting against her chest, her warmth fully around me, breath steady against the back of my neck, and her heart beating steadily against her chest.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

With a shuttering breath, my eyes fall shut.

One.

The feeling of warming earth; furrowing around my toes, clumping under my nails.

Two.

The warmth of the fire on my side, Keeper Rogelan's hands on my shoulders.

Three.

The warm summer air stirring around me as it slowly begins to warm again.

Four.

My breath falling in sync with hers, the tension falling from my shoulders. We stay that way for a moment longer before she draws back slightly, just enough for our eyes to meet.

"Now is a good time for us to retire for the night, it's been more than enough excitement for one night I think."

Her voice sounds distant, but I nod as she pulls me to my feet. Hesitantly I eye space beneath the aravel as we pass. However, there are no eyes staring back this time, the fires have darkened and the clearing is quiet. I trail after Rogelan, following her back into the aravel from earlier. Closing the door behind us she lights a lantern before seating me in a stool near the chests. As soon as her hands leave my shoulders, a wave of exhaustion washes over me and I slump back against the walls. My eyes begin to feel heavy, my mouth going dry as I hear the faint trickle of water. Turning my eyes to her, I watch as she finishes pouring water from a small pitcher into a bowl. She plucks a few vials from the shelves, carefully pouring their contents into the water. She grabs a rag from the basket near her. My lids droop for just a moment and when they open again she is kneeling next to me, gently lifting my feet into the bowl.

Not a word is passed between us as she drags the rag against my skin, gentle hands wipe away the mud and warm my toes. My lips feel as heavy as my eyes, refusing to shape my thanks, to apologize. My eyes fall shut once more, opening right as my tunic clears my head. A warm cloth runs over my back, down my arms, and then along my fingers and under my nails. My tongue lays as still as my lips, refusing to speak my thoughts. I let out a heavy huff, a yawn stretching through me, eyes squeezing shut. This time when they open, I see Rogelan giving me a soft smile. I'm surrounded by familiar furs and warmth; my eyes follow her as she crosses the aravel. She opens the lantern door and snuffs out the wick, leaving us in darkness and me to my dreams.