Drakonis, 9:34 Dragon

Kirkwall

I hold up a green plant with little white blubs on the ends and wave it in front of Dawn's nose, watching with amusement as her little chocolate eyes stare intently at the herb clutched in my fingers.

"This," I wiggle the plant and bop her on the nose with it, making her sneeze, "is elfroot. It's ok to eat this; it'll help with an upset tummy and Anders can use it to make health potions."

Dawn obliges me and smells the elfroot in my hands, and I put it back in my satchel, leaning back on my hands.

"All right! Fetch!"

Dawn barks and scurries towards the bag, shuffling through it with all the intensity a puppy can muster, until she emerges with the elfroot clamped in her jaws, and I hug her close and kiss her on the nose.

"Good girl!" I coo in my best baby voice. I hold out a hand and she drops the—slightly damp—elfroot in my fingers and I put it away.

Mabari are surprisingly good herbalists.

I slide on a glove for this next one, and as soon as it's out of the bag Dawn jumps away and her hackles raise. It's rather adorable, if a little intimidating.

"This is deathroot. Do not put this in your mouth."

Dawn looks at me as if I'm an idiot for even having to say that aloud, and I smile.

"If you have to pick any, grab the stem, not the leaves." I toss the bag of plants up onto a high counter and Dawn jumps back into my lap, licking my face. I hear the door opening and Dawn swivels her head towards the sound, ears pricked up, eyes alert.

Not Isabela, then. Dawn is used to her comings and goings, and usually doesn't even so much as snort when she wanders in at odd hours of the day.

"Liz?"

I smile and rub Dawn's ears to get her to relax. I lower my voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "This is Anders," I whisper in her ear, and Dawn looks at me and grins. I'd told her all about Anders. "Go say hello."

Dawn barks and bolts towards the door, and I laugh when I hear the alarmed, unmanly yelp as he suddenly has an armful of happy mabari pup. For a little thing, she sure can jump.

When he comes in, still trying to hold Dawn's wriggling self with any modicum of success, I have to clap a hand over my mouth to stifle the smile I don't want him to see.

Things with Anders have been… strange, to say the least. He hasn't been pushing me away since he gave me Dawn, but he hasn't exactly been pinning me to any walls either. As much as I detest having Anders put me in his own personal friend-zone, it's better than having him avoid me like the plague.

He sets Dawn on the ground and brushes his coat off, as if a few black mabari hairs are really going to make his robe any worse, and then eyes the satchel of herbs I'd chucked onto a counter.

"I was wondering where my bag went," he commented wryly, narrowing one eye down at me as I smile innocently up at him.

I may have borrowed his herb bag without asking. Maybe.

"I was teaching Dawn about all the different kinds of plants," I explain, and watch with amusement as he blinks through that information. "And I needed some plants to teach her with. They're all there. Oh, but the elfroot might be a little… soggy."

Anders grimaced. "Do I even want to know?" He shook his head. "You haven't been at the Hanged Man lately," he frowned, "I—we were worried."

"I told Bela to let you guys know I was spending some time with Dawn. Should have known better than to trust her with something so vital." I rolled my eyes. "Sorry if I worried you guys."

He shrugged, as if it didn't matter, and looked around appreciatively. Belatedly, I remember he has never been inside my house before, and I jump to my feet.

"I am an awful host. Would you like a tour?" I affect my best haughty accent and raise my nose in the air, and he rewards my efforts with a smirk.

I lead him through the house, Here's the kitchen, but the only one who uses it is Merrill—she's a good cook / Oh, this is Isabela's room; I wouldn't go in there if I were you / This is my room, don't sit in that chair by the door, that's Dawn's favorite chair.

We pause in my room as I dash around trying to tidy up, which is pointless since he's standing in the doorway, but something about bringing him into my room is infinitely more important than showing him anything else.

I find one of Isabela's bras behind a chair and I fling it at the wall with a loud Eww! because it was wet and I don't want to know why. "That woman…" I mutter.

I turn back to the door and find Anders across the room, studying the sketches I'd pinned to the far wall, and I blush. There's nothing incriminating hanging there—I keep all my fangirl sketches of Anders hidden under my pillow like a creeper—but still. Most of them are new doodles of Dawn doing various things, or at least a shape that vaguely resembles Dawn on a good day, but it's the ones up in the corner that drew his interest.

I don't blame him. That's where I hang my drawings of things I can remember from back home. Wow, it seems like forever since I woke up in Ostagar. I figured I'd better get some of the things down on paper before I forget what they are. There's a cell phone, a few cars, a lamp, a light bulb, an architectural layout of my apartment as I remember it, a few sketches of my cats (he smiles at those), a fridge, and a few other various items that I wanted to keep for posterity.

"What are these?" he asks in a strange tone of voice, pointing at the cars. I'm not the best vehicular artist, but they're close enough. Just don't ask me to draw the engines or anything.

I clear my throat. "They're called cars. People use them for transportation back where I come from, instead of horses or wagons. They're machines."

He glances over at me, and I can't read his expression at all. "Sometimes I forget you're not really from here."

I shrug back at him. "Sometimes I forget that, too." It's rather alarming how much I can't remember about my time back home.

I can remember waking up to the jarring sound of an alarm clock. I can remember the cats clamoring for food at all hours of the day, even if there's already food in their bowls. I can remember the feel of the keyboard under my fingers as I work. I can even remember the feel of carpet under my toes.

But I can't remember what my mother's voice sounds like. I can't remember most of my time at school. I can't remember the smell of the city—rain and smog and various cafés. I can't remember the faces of anyone I grew up with except a few fragments; a nose here, a glimpse of hair…

Four years in Thedas and it's all but erased eighteen in America.

He must have read something in my face because he smiles and steps away from the doodles of a past I've all but forgotten, and surprises me by putting an arm around my shoulders as he guides me to the door.

"Come on, let's go watch everyone get drunk and lose at cards again."

I smile up at him, resisting the urge to lean into him in case he isn't aware that he's touching me. "I'd like that." I whistle for Dawn and she scampers to my side, trotting along happily in our wake.