It was agreed amongst them, once Hawke had passed the Wanted poster around, that neither Hawke nor Fenris should leave their room for the remainder of their stay in Vol Dorma. Though the portrait of Hawke on the poster wasn't overly recognizable, it was still too much of a risk having her wander around where anyone might catch sight of her. She agreed to the proposition readily, stating that this was just further confirmation that they should get out of the city and into the wilderness as quickly as possible. "There's still shopping to do, though," she added, sitting on the corner of Sebastian's bed while looking at the others as they examined the poster. "Sebastian and Varric? How about you head out and get the remainder of the supplies? We can leave in the morning."

"Sure thing, Hawke," Varric nodded. "What sort of things do you need us strapping men to tote around for you?"

She smiled crookedly. "Well, aside from basics, like food and an unreasonable quantity of alcohol, we could probably use some weapons. A sword for Fenris, at least. You two probably know more about that than I do. And take Merrill with you so she can help you pick out some good, solid conductors." Hawke turned to Merrill as she added, "Don't get staffs or anything too flashy—we just need something to amplify our magic in case we get into trouble."

Merrill nodded. "Of course. Now, have you got any particular preference? Do you prefer necklaces or rings? Maybe a lovely crystal?"

"Anything will be fine," Hawke assured her. "Oh, and Merrill? I know that you have the same hatred of shoes that seems so prevalent among your people, but we are about to traverse some fairly snowy terrain and it really wouldn't be the worst thing if you could pick up some boots for yourself and Fenris. I can almost guarantee that losing a toe to frostbite will be more uncomfortable than swathing your feet in a heavy boot."

"It has been a bit chilly, hasn't it? Now, I'm afraid that I haven't much practice with the sizing of shoes. I haven't even the faintest notion what size I ought to be wearing, but then I will have my own foot as a reference, won't I? But, um, what size shall I get for Fenris?" As she mentioned his feet, all eyes in the room turned downwards to examine them. Fenris shifted uncomfortably.

"This really isn't necessary," said Fenris flatly, wishing rather violently that the others would stop staring so intently at his feet. He turned to Hawke and added, "I've walked through a little snow before, Hawke, and somehow managed to remain in one piece."

"I'd be willing to wager that you haven't spent day in and day out forging your way across miles of snowy wilderness," she replied firmly. "I did not go all the way to Tevinter only to have you leave your toes scattered throughout Nevarra. Now someone bring me an inked quill and a piece of parchment so I can make a tracing of Fenris' foot." She held out her hand expectantly until Sebastian delivered the goods she had asked for.

Hawke knelt down before Fenris, bidding him to put his foot on top of the paper. Obligingly, he lifted his foot as she slipped the parchment beneath it. She turned her face up towards him, smiling before she looked back down and began to run the quill in a slow, deliberate line around the perimeter of his foot. He watched as she did so, knelt as she was before him and bracing herself with one hand on his shin while she drew with the other. His toes twitched involuntarily as the tip of the quill brushed against his bare skin. She laughed under her breath and he felt the sudden urge to reach down and wind his fingers through her hair. Mercifully, he fought the impulse and she soon asked him to lift his foot once more. He did so and she stood, blowing on the ink to expedite its drying. "There you are," she said, handing the parchment to Merrill. "This should give you some idea of what will fit." Then, to Varric and Sebastian, she added, "And make sure you remember to buy clothes for yourselves as well. I wasn't sure what sort of things you men like to wear and I thought it best to leave those sort of intimate details to you."

Varric smirked. "Excellent thinking, Hawke."

She blushed slightly, brushing her hair behind her ear before saying quietly, "Oh, and… don't forget to pick up some smallclothes for Fenris, if you don't mind." Now, Fenris found himself staring at his feet, unable to look up at her. He heard Varric chuckle and offer his assent.

"Right, okay," said Hawke, clapping her hands together once as though she were snapping a book shut. "Fenris and I will just be sitting stupidly in our room while you three go off and have adventures without us. Fenris, shall we?" He looked up at her; she was smiling at him, still blushing slightly across her cheeks. Her hand was extended towards him, as if he were expected to take it. He remembered all those days spent trailing after her, clutching at her. It seemed oddly humiliating now to be led about like a child. Still, he took her hand, wrapping his fingers across its soft warmth. Though it was she who had reached for him, something like embarrassment crossed her expression once he actually held her hand in his. She cleared her throat, looking away from him and towards the others. "And Varric?" she added, her voice a little rough. "Would you mind choosing some books as well? If you choose anything too tawdry, then I will poke your eyes out with a rusty nail. Just… something simple and, let's say, appropriate for audiences of all ages."

He huffed indignantly. "Aw, where's the fun in that, Hawke? Without a heavy dose of sexual tension, how is a story supposed to titillate and amuse?"

She narrowed her eyes. "There will be no titillation. There will be no sexual tension. There will only be a series of words put together into a logical order and conveying tame, inoffensive information."

"Fine, fine," grumbled Varric. "Now don't you and the elf have somewhere to go… or were you just planning on standing there holding hands all day like a couple of love-struck adolescents?" Abruptly, Fenris and Hawke dropped their hands to their sides. This seemed to amuse Varric, bringing a barely suppressed grin to his lips.

"No. Sexual. Tension," Hawke repeated warningly to Varric as she and Fenris left the room.

Back in their own bedchamber, Fenris and Hawke sat on the floor in front of the fire. The clothing she had bought earlier was still spread in heaps across one of the beds. Earlier, when they had just come indoors, she had insisted on dressing him in the black cloak she'd purchased. He had felt foolish as she had wrapped it around his shoulders. Though he had spent most of his life being dressed by others, he'd never had someone drape cloth over him while smiling so sweetly. Clothes had never been about his warmth or his comfort; this was a new sensation. "There," she'd murmured, looking him up and down. "You look nice and snug. No more shivering." When she'd looked up, meeting his gaze, he had indeed felt flushed with warmth.

Now, as they sat before the fire and the cloak lay almost forgotten on the bed, he still felt unsteady. She had a way of invoking that feeling in him. There was so much that was uncertain about her; so much that he wished he could remember.

She looked over at him and found that he was watching her. "What is it?" she asked, chuckling a bit uncomfortably. "You're not nervous about the poster, are you? We knew all along that this was a very real possibility."

"I'm not concerned over some trifling poster," he replied, shaking his head and looking towards the softly crackling fire. "If they'd like to reclaim me, then they're welcome to try."

There was a lethal thread of hatred woven in his voice then that brought a smile to her lips. It was such a familiar tone to hear in his voice. Something that had been in his words a hundred-thousand times when he'd addressed her. All those months of docility had left her craving his bitterness. That resolute strength brought on by anger that had given him the ability to spend years on his own, constantly fleeing the slavers that pursued him. Why had it never occurred to her to marvel at that strength before? "Who do you think put out the bounty?" she asked, pulling her legs up to her chest and resting her chin on her knees. "Danarius is dead and it seems like an awfully large bounty for some uninvolved outsider to place on your head."

Fenris shrugged slightly, his jaw hardening as he clenched his teeth. "It's likely his apprentice. The fair-haired one who replaced Hadriana." Hawke remembered, in a flash, Fenris' screams of pain as Flavius' needles had been driven through his flesh. She felt herself cringing at the memory. "He was always a foul, grasping piece of excrement bent on making my life miserable. His obsession with Danarius was plain enough; no doubt he misses his beloved mentor and wishes revenge."

"Were they… involved?"

"No. Danarius never took anything that was offered willingly," he spat bitterly.

"No. I suppose he didn't," she muttered, bowing her head and hugging her legs more tightly. With a sidelong glance towards Fenris, she added, "Have I ever thanked you? For killing him, I mean."

"The pleasure, I can assure you, was entirely mine," he replied, looking over at her with a smirk that was almost devilish. She found herself smiling back at him.

"I mean it. Thank you," she reiterated, her voice grave and her eyes soft.

"You are welcome," he said, nodding in acknowledgement.

They fell silent after that, both turning their heads back towards the fire and allowing its crackling to be the only sound that filled the air. It was a peaceful silence in which there was nothing that needed to be said though there was much to say. When Merrill returned to the room, bearing food and sundry goods, the air filled once more with conversation. Fenris was largely not a part of the discourse, but Hawke was never unaware of him. Without paying conscious attention to his movements or actions, she knew nonetheless that he was reaching for bread or scratching his knee or looking her way. He danced at the edges of her consciousness throughout the night and she found herself comforted by his presence. Even when he said nothing or did nothing of note, his air was now distinctly that of Fenris rather than that of some unknown elf living within his skin. It was strange and wonderful to feel him flickering back into existence.

When the time came to sleep, however, Hawke found a new awkwardness that came of Fenris' clawing his way back through the haze of stolen memories. Merrill lay in her own bed and Hawke, now clad only in the slip that she wore beneath her robes, found herself faced with a choice that she had not foreseen the discomfort of making. The bed she had shared with Fenris the night before was vacant now and she found herself having to choose between crawling in beside Merrill or slipping into the empty bed and allowing Fenris to lie beside her once more. She knew that the obvious thing to do was to sleep beside Merrill; it was the choice that the small, petulant Sebastian in her mind told her was the decent thing to do. Still, it seemed ridiculous to alter her behaviors based on the resurgence of one memory and a few small but distinct changes to Fenris' attitude. After all, they had lain together the night before. Why should it be different now? Smiling nervously, she looked over at him. "So… would you rather have the bed to yourself tonight?"

He remembered the night before. She'd been unaware of him as he joined her beneath the blankets, but he had not had that same oblivious comfort. For all too long he had tried to sleep while being uncomfortably aware of her: of her warmth beside him, of her restless shifting as she turned in her sleep, of her leg as it had brushed against his tense body. If they were to leave in the morning, he had no wish to have his sleep disrupted by her tossing and turning as well as the perverse turns that his own mind took in the quiet blackness of night. "That would be best," he told her.

She smiled tightly. "Okay then. I'll just… pop in with Merrill." Quickly, she dove beneath the covers beside the other mage. Yes. It was better that way.

When dawn came, they left Vol Dorma and began to trudge onwards. They moved away from the Imperial Highway once more and slanted slightly eastwards to find the lightly wooded terrain that stretched there. It was impossible to utterly avoid civilization now; the land they trod was situated between the Highway and the Nocen Sea. People, as they are wont to do, had erected cities along the water that had bled inland towards the main road. Small towns littered the landscape now and all in their party were uneasy. If these people had also received the information that a slave and his companions were on the run from Minrathous, there was an excellent chance that they would not hesitate to attempt to capture Fenris and the others. Though she never would have expected it of herself, Hawke found that she was eagerly anticipating the blighted desolation of The Silent Plains. But they were still several weeks away from that foul wilderness.

With Hawke at the helm, their party plunged onwards relentlessly. Their progress from Minrathous to Vol Dorma had been slow, but their speed now more than made up for it. There were too many sources of pressure closing in around Hawke for her to allow them to move forward lackadaisically. For one thing, they were still in the Imperium and still perilously close to its people. For another, Fenris' mind had not stopped unlocking.

The first night away from Vol Dorma, Fenris had erected his shelter a short distance away from the others. While in the marketplace, Sebastian had, quite thoughtfully, remembered to buy Fenris a length of canvas with which he could make a tent of his own rather than encroaching on Hawke's personal space. Though he did not sleep beside her, Hawke had still heard Fenris turning fitfully in his sleep. She had risen and shuffled through the darkness towards where he lay. That night, their camp was not lit by a fire. Though it was cold, Hawke had been unwilling to take the chance that someone might catch sight of their campfire and come to investigate. Nevertheless, Hawke could make out Fenris' form beneath the light of the moon. He was covered in furs, his legs kicking out at intervals as he murmured foreign words in his sleep. She wished she understood Tevene. This time, she had not tried to shake him awake; instead she lifted a small, round pebble from the ground and tossed it at him. He woke with a start, panting.

"Fenris?" she'd whispered, venturing closer to him. "You were restless again. Is it… alright?"

He'd crept forward, the furs falling away from his body as he emerged from the tent. "Did I ever tell you about my time near the Arlathan Forest? In Brynnlain?"

"No," she breathed, studying his face with gentle eyes.

He shook his head, still looking lost in thought. "Hm, then I suppose you cannot confirm the veracity of the memory. There was a little girl, it seems; she was kind to me." He ran his hand across the back of his neck, rubbing at the taut muscles of his shoulders. "Her parents were less so," he added darkly. Sighing heavily, he glanced upwards at Hawke. "It seems my mind is reluctant to allow me to recall anything of a pleasant nature. But then, perhaps there is nothing pleasant to recall."

"You beat Varric at Wicked Grace once," suggested Hawke, smiling faintly. "Though perhaps that's not really the sort of thing you were hoping for…."

He chuckled under his breath. She felt her stomach flip at the sound. "Well, it's something, at least," he said dryly, smiling at her beneath the moonlight.

After that, memories had continued to awaken with a frequency that worried Hawke. They were still several weeks away from Kirkwall and there was scarcely a night that passed when she did not hear him turning. The one thing that offered her any semblance of hope was that the memories seemed to be coming forward somewhat chronologically. That was not always the case; sometimes the day's events triggered a recollection from a much more recent time. He had, for one thing, remembered that Merrill practiced blood magic. That did little to foster camaraderie in the group and the mounting tension between the two of them was yet another reason why Hawke was eager to get home. Still, the majority of his newly recovered memories were of events that had happened years before she had known him. Many years had passed between his escape from Danarius and his eventual return; the only hope she had was that those elapsed years had contained enough memories to fill at least two months of dreams.

As insurance that she would not trigger any memories of herself, Hawke knew that she ought to be making an effort to avoid spending a superfluous amount of time with Fenris. Such a thing, however, would have proved impossible had she tried it. Their party was small, after all, and it would be excessively difficult to avoid any one member without it being incredibly conspicuous. And there was the added difficulty that she kept finding herself matching his pace as they made they journeyed onwards towards Kirkwall. Hawke found herself drifting towards him if she let her attention lapse for even a moment.

The nights were the only times during which she was not with him. Since it was unadvisable to light a fire with towns so near, Hawke and Fenris had been unable to start their reading lessons together. There were, on most evenings, small fires lit so that dinner could be cooked, but they were always quickly doused out as soon as darkness fell. In the absence of the warmth and light of fire, most days ended with everyone slinking off to their respective tents and trying to sleep in spite of the cold. During those nights, she was able to put the sort of space between them that she ought to be constantly maintaining.

The trouble was, of course, that she hated that space. With each day that passed, she was becoming more sharply aware of the brevity of their time together. And she liked his company. She had never noticed before, but he was almost funny. Not in the same way as Varric, but in a dark, subtle way that you had to be paying attention in order to notice. It was a wonder that she had not noticed it before. During the long stretches of travel, when her feet were sore and her muscles aching, she liked to walk at his side; he was strong and resolute and, even in silence, she felt that his company imbued her with some of that same strength. It was foolish to walk at his side. She knew that. It was foolish to care and to allow him to burrow like a worm towards the rotten core of her heart. But she kept drifting towards him, and he towards her.

After the passage of several long days and nights, it was finally agreed amongst everyone that it wouldn't be entirely unsafe to keep a bonfire burning throughout the night. Though they were still not terribly far from the Imperial Highway and were indeed still near to one of the streams that branched forth from a rather large river that met the sea somewhere near the coastal city of Vyrantium, the terrain was marshy enough that no intrepid settlers had built their homes here. Furthermore, The Silent Plains were not far off now and the chance for a night of true, restorative sleep may not come again for weeks. Admittedly, the idea of finally having a fire made Hawke almost giddy. It meant that, after she bathed, she'd be able to warm herself by the fire instead of letting her hair freeze into icicles.

"Merrill, would you like to come along and make sure that I don't freeze to death?" asked Hawke hopefully as she gathered together the soap and rag she used while washing herself. "I'd hate for you lot to find me three hours from now frozen solid as an ice cube."

"Of course, I'll go with you, Hawke. I'm not particularly fond of frigid waters, but I will certainly watch from the shore so you don't drown. That sounds very unpleasant."

"Fair enough," grinned Hawke. "Anyone else feel like going for a bath? We're all mature enough not to giggle uncontrollably at the sight of one another's genitals, right?" Hawke cast a glance around her encircled companions. Sebastian was, quite predictably, blushing and making very clear attempts to prevent himself from mentally picturing communal bathing.

"I can never sleep if my mane of chest hair is damp," said Varric, running his hand across the aforementioned hair.

"Well, that's a shame," replied Hawke, frowning exaggeratedly. "I never get to see enough of you."

Pointedly patting the crossbow next to him, he smiled and drawled, "Bianca…."

Hawke laughed, glancing towards where Fenris sat beside the now roaring fire. He was looking into the flames as if he were utterly unaware of the conversation that was taking place around him. She opened her mouth to say something, but, as a blush surged to her cheeks, decided it was probably better to allow for some separation during baths at least. "Come on Merrill," she murmured, heading off towards the stream.

When they came upon a stretch of water that wasn't too marshy, they were a good way away from the camp. Hawke took several quick breaths to ready herself for the cold and then, with as much speed as she could manage, stripped herself bare and plummeted into the water. It was so bitterly cold that she felt as if something had knocked the wind from her lungs. Gasping and shuddering, she let out a sharp laugh. Masochistic as it was, she loved to see how long she could put up with the cold of the water. It reminded her of a game she and Carver had played as children; they had leapt into the lake on cold mornings and each tried to stay in the water longer than the other. Carver had always won and she'd allowed him the pleasure of that victory over her. Hawke smiled at the memory as she gave in and began to radiate magic to heat the water that brushed against her skin. It was not much, but it was enough to stave off hypothermia.

"Creators, you must be freezing," exclaimed Merrill in wonderment.

"I am, yes. Very much so," called back Hawke as she began to scrub at her skin with the soap. "If my teeth were chattering any more violently, then they might shatter in my mouth."

"That would be terrible, wouldn't it? To have no teeth." Merrill chuckled with her usual, tremulous good-humor.

"It would certainly make sex less enjoyable," drawled Hawke absently. "What fun is there in coupling if you can't leave your partner with a nice, large bruise on their shoulder?" It occurred to her that, perhaps, the chill of the water had stripped her of some of her rational faculties.

Merrill, however, had the courtesy to laugh politely. "You're probably better at all that sort of thing than I am," she muttered, shifting uneasily at the water's edge. "There was never much, um, opportunity for learning all that whilst I was training with the Keeper. Not that I've never… well, never mind that." She cleared her throat loudly before adding, "I'm sure I could stand to be a bit more adventurous. Like you and Isabela."

Hawke let out a breath of laughter. "Well, I think maybe Isabela was a bit more bold than I."

"Well, she's more bold than most people," conceded Merrill, with a shade of a sentimental smile playing around her lips. In spite of her own timidity, Merrill had developed a fondness for the raunchy stories she had heard while in Isabela's company. Frowning, Hawke wondered how Merrill was dealing with the loss of her friend. Before she could ask, however, Merrill added, "Anders certainly never seemed disappointed with your prowess, in any case." Then, a bit of panic in her tone, she continued, "Not that he divulged too much personal information! But I, well, got the sense that it was all very exciting."

Hawke was unable to hold back the peal of laughter that burst from her. "Well, I suppose it was," she said at last. "I really can't take the credit for that, however; I learned everything I know from him." Then, as an afterthought, she added, "And that book about phallic-shaped tubers that Isabela gave me, I suppose."

"That must have been quite fun," said Merrill, sounding oddly wistful. "With two mages, I mean. Not the tubers."

Running her fingers through the tangles of her hair, Hawke furrowed her brow slightly. "Why would it make a difference that we're both mages?"

It was a lucky thing for Merrill that the darkness hid the brilliant blush that was now encompassing the entirety of her face. "Well, perhaps it's a bit silly, but I thought… well, that you might know some… dirty spells?"

"Well, there are a few," mused Hawke, trying desperately to keep herself from embarrassing Merrill further with a violent burst of laughter. "This little trick with electricity, for one thing… but it might be awkward to go over while I'm naked."

"Yes, perhaps," agreed Merrill. It might have been Hawke's imagination, but she thought Merrill sounded a bit disappointed.

"I'll lend you my grimoire when we get back to Kirkwall," chuckled Hawke. "There's plenty of dirty spells in there." She dipped her head back in the water, allowing her hair to become wet. When she looked towards Merrill once more, her teeth chattering with renewed violence, the pale light of the moon broke through the clouds to reveal a thoughtful frown on Merrill's face. "What is it?" Hawke asked as she worked frothing soap across her scalp.

"It's too personal a question," said Merrill, shaking her head slightly.

"Merrill, I've just been talking about electric sex and phallic tubers," Hawke replied flatly. "I'm sure it's not too personal."

"Well," began Merrill cautiously, "I was just wondering if you and Anders might work things out once we get back to Kirkwall. You both seemed so happy together. Neither of you should have to be alone."

"There are worse things than being alone," Hawke answered gently, fighting back the dull twinge of discomfort that always bloomed within her when she was forced to dredge up memories of what her feelings had been. Merrill looked down and Hawke tilted her head slightly to the side, studying her. "Are you… alone, Merrill?" she ventured gently. "Do you have someone back home?"

"No… I'm, afraid not, no," Merrill replied, laughing a bit sadly. "I'm still not quite used to Kirkwall, I don't think, and, I've been… invested… with my other project. I don't think I'd have the time for a lover, really. Or that I'd be able to find anyone in the Alienage."

"Well, I'm sure there's scores of people in The Hanged Man who'd give an arm and a leg for the love of a girl like you," suggested Hawke.

Merrill laughed shyly, hiding a smile. "That's… sweet of you to say, Hawke. But it's not traditional among the elven to take human lovers. It's… troublesome for our people. Any child born of a human and an elf paring is not an elf, you see, and our people are few enough as it is."

"Hmm, I see," said Hawke as she began to make her way towards the shore. "Well, no one in the Alienage and no one who's not an elf." She took a deep breath, trying to steel herself in preparation to emerge from the water. "I guess that just leaves Fenris."

Merrill's expression clearly exhibited her shock. "Creators, no! That would be a disaster! Oh, and you were joking, weren't you?" she laughed. "Poor Fenris. It must have been very hard for him to always be so at odds with you; he must have had quite a difficult time coming to terms with all of it."

"What do you mean?" asked Hawke. Taking one last deep breath, she rushed from the water and fumbled into her clothing as quickly as she could.

Hawke was piling her wet hair on top of her head when Merrill shrugged and said, "Well, you are a mage, after all. It must have been very hard on him to love you, given how bitter and irrational he is when it comes to our kind."

Hawke's eyes opened as wide as saucers. "What must have been hard on him?" Surely she had misheard.

"Well… being in love with you," answered Merrill, sounding vaguely surprised by Hawke's confusion.

Hawke felt a greater shock than she had when she'd first plunged into the frigid water of the stream. It felt very much as if someone had punched her in the sternum. "What?" she gasped. "Fenris isn't in love with me! He doesn't even remember me!" Stammering frantically, she added, "A-and even if he does have f-feelings, they'll be gone soon enough. The moment he gets his memory of me back, he'll go right back to wanting me dead."

Merrill stared at Hawke, her green eyes wide and filled with mild alarm. "You really didn't know?" she whispered, utterly dumbfounded. "When he gets his memories back, he'll be in love with you. Well, perhaps not, given all that's happened, but he was in love with you for years before that whole… awkward… business." She left large pauses between her words, monitoring Hawke's expression carefully as she spoke. "You truly didn't know? We all assumed you just ignored it because you were with Anders."

"Why in the Maker's name would you think that he was in love with me?" sputtered Hawke, still trying to figure out how a relatively rational woman like Merrill could have come upon such a wild misconception.

"Well, it was obvious, wasn't it?" she muttered quickly, brushing her hair behind her ear and looking at the ground. "Always staring after you with those big, puppy eyes…."

"There were no puppy eyes!" barked Hawke, clenching her hands into fists. Hawke took several deep breaths, calming herself. "That's impossible," she continued, keeping her voice even. "Fenris always hated me. Always. And… and we shouldn't be talking about this anyway. They might… they might overhear us." Camp was still far too distant for their words to be heard, but, now that the initial shock of Merrill's words had passed, Hawke found herself oddly embarrassed. The idea that Fenris could have been in love with her… that something could have happened between them if she had just…. It was nonsense.

"Hawke… oh dear," sighed Merrill anxiously. "I've gone and said something foolish to upset you. And… and perhaps I was wrong. You'd know better than I do."

"No," said Hawke quickly, "don't apologize. You haven't done anything wrong. Really, you haven't. And I'm sorry for being short with you just now… I was just surprised. There's just… there's just no way that that could be true. He'd never let himself love someone like me. A mage, I mean. It's just… impossible."

"Yes," said Merrill gently. "You're probably right."

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

A)The conversation between Merrill and Hawke about "dirty" spells is inspired by banter from the Legacy DLC. Merrill is such a precious little pervert.

B) As you might have guessed, I have a map of Thedas. I do not, however, have a reliable scale or any useful information about geography or cities/towns. All I have is what I learned in AP Human Geography about where people tend to settle (along water… duh). If you're curious, I'm assuming that it would take roughly 90 days to move from Minrathous to Kirkwall. I have no clue if that's correct, but it takes roughly 88-ish days to travel across the United States on foot. That's just how I've charted it and I'm pretty much sticking to that timeframe. Now, that's a long time, so it was necessary to sort of use conservation of detail in this chapter. I assume that most everyone is too tired after a long day of walking to really do anything too interesting, especially when they're pretty close to settlements (which I'm assuming they are).