The temperature was notably dropping when they broke for camp that night. Shale made a few irritated noises about the 'soft fleshy ones' having to stop for a break, then went and parked itself at the edge of the camp and roundly ignored them.

Nike thought that was probably for the best. Shale hadn't seemed too pleased with having two mages in their little party, but when it witnessed Morrigan change into a raven, this distant irritation had turned into a rabid dislike. Morrigan herself thought it was funny, but Nike wasn't much amused.

She woke that morning before even false dawn, her breath billowing in frosty clouds from her lips as she tried to reorient herself, to refocus. She thought she heard the echo of her own shout still in her ears, but everyone else remained deeply asleep, so it didn't seem as if she had voiced the shout anywhere but in that horrible dream.

She had been standing on a rooftop…somewhere. Everything outside of her immediate surroundings had been out of focus, nebulous. She had a sense of carnage around her, of death, but specifics were lost in that mist. Her entire body hurt, burning with an exhaustion far beyond anything she'd ever experienced. At the same time, she was tense, drawn as tightly as skin across a drum.

The only thing that was crystal clear in the dream was the dragon.

It was facing her on that rooftop, teeth gleaming like spear-points, claws the length of sword-blades digging into stone. A dead man, half crushed, was pinned beneath those claws.

No. That was wrong. It wasn't a dragon. It was the archdemon.

She had to kill it. She had to stop the Blight, but she didn't know how. She didn't know how, and she could hear her own heart drumming in her ears. With each beat, a voice was counting downward in a slow, sad tone.

Nine. Eight. Seven…

It was Morrigan's voice. Morrigan, counting down the last heartbeats of life that Nike had left.

Sitting up, shivering, she fed the fire and stirred the embers until it began to catch and warm once more. Then, bundling her bedroll around herself, she stared into the flames and did her best to forget her dream. No matter how hard she tried, however, she kept hearing Morrigan slow counting over and over in her ears.

Nine. Eight. Seven…this is how long you have left to live. Six beats now until you die, Nike. Until that thing kills you. Now five. Four…three…

When the others began to stir a couple of hours later, she pretended she herself had just woken as well. A thin mountain stream was nearby, so cold it nearly burned. She rubbed the water over her face until it had gone the red of a sunburn, until that counting voice finally went away. Then, she wordlessly returned to the fireside.

"Are you all right?" Wynne asked. Nike, crouched to gather up her bedroll, only half glanced at the older woman.

"I'm fine. Restless sleep. The cold, I think." She looked over at Shale, who was still standing where it had stopped the night before. Though she had noticed that some time ago, she spoke as if she had just become aware. "I see our golem hasn't abandoned us yet."

"I will be honest, I am a bit concerned about its tale regarding its former master," Wynne said.

"You mean the villagers apparently setting upon and killing him, with mages to prevent the golem from interfering?"

"Yes. I know that it likely happened several decades ago, but I still feel disquiet. We could be walking into a very bad situation."

Nike nodded, finishing tying up her roll. "We'll be cautious. If you are concerned-"

Wynne seemed to sense what she was about to say next and held up her hands. "I am not suggesting that I go back, or that I am frightened," she said. "I have seen much in my lifetime and I have no hesitancy about continuing on. I am glad to hear that you have considered these things as well."

Nike looked at her a moment, before her brows knit. "You think because I am young, and because I'm the daughter of a Teyrn-"

"No," Wynne said evenly. "I am not questioning your competency or your dedication. I am more concerned with other matters. A lot has been put on your shoulders in such a short period of time. Losing your family, being conscripted into the Wardens against your will- Ostagar, Redcliffe, the Circle…and now this. You are a very capable young woman, but these things would challenge even the most seasoned of us. I hope you do not think me a nosey old woman meddling in things that are none of her business. I just want you to know that I understand what rests upon you, and that if you need it, I am a listening ear."

Nike rubbed a hand over her still-reddened face. "I'm sorry, Wynne. I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions like that. Truth be told, I keep trying to figure out how I got into this whole nightmare and how to wake myself up."

"There is an old saying," Wynne told her. "One that sounds like a wish of good fortune at first, but to those who understand it- it is a curse."

"What's that?"

"May you live in interesting times."

Nike smiled slightly. "Yes. Right now, I would give anything to live in the dullest of times imaginable. That sounds just fine to me."

Wynne regarded her a moment. "Are you certain that nothing else troubles you?"

"Nothing I care to speak of," she said, and carried her bedroll over to Angry Horse before Wynne could probe any further.

Nine. Eight. Seven…

"Hello," Morrigan said at her shoulder. Nike visibly startled, drawing back a step and starting to lift a hand defensively. Morrigan, as well startled by her reaction, lifted her own hands in a surrendering gesture.

"My apologies. I did not wish to surprise you."

"It's…no, I'm sorry. It's my fault. I'm a bit distracted."

This is how long you have left to live.

"Tis not like you to be so easily startled, even distracted," Morrigan said, then lowered her hands as her eyes narrowed slightly. "You look ashen. Are you-"

"I'm fine," Nike said, a bit more firmly than she intended. Catching her own tone, she cleared her throat, then tried again, more softly. "I'm fine, Morrigan. Really. Just bad dreams."

Morrigan didn't look like she quite believed her, but seemed disinclined to press. "As you say."

Finishing tying off the bedroll and getting Far Song secured, Nike regarded the other woman out of the corner of her eye. "Would you…never mind."

"Would I never mind?" Morrigan asked, with an amused tilt to her mouth. "Tis an unusual request. Indeed, one of the most unusual requests I believe I have yet received. But I shall do my best."

Her levity made Nike feel a bit better, and she wanly returned the smile. "I was just wondering if you would mind riding with me today? For a little while any way."

"Do I not ride with you every day?"

"I meant, as you. As a human. Not as a bird."

Morrigan grimaced a little, but her expression was as studiously intent as any scholar over his tomes. She seemed to be searching Nike's face for strange, invisible runes only she could perceive.

"You wish to talk," she said. It was a statement, more than a question.

"I suppose I do."

"Riding astride a horse is an uncomfortable activity that I never took a liking to," Morrigan said loftily. "However, we are friends, are we not? If you need to talk, my ear will be open. Astride it is…for a time, any way. If your mount tries to bite me, however-"

"He knows better," Nike said, matter-of-factly. It was true so far as she knew; Angry Horse had snapped at every one in their ever-growing, ever-strange little party at least once, but never Morrigan.

They finished breaking camp, and after mounting Nike held a hand to Morrigan, who took it and swung up behind her. Alistair gave them a bit of an odd look, but if it drew the notice of any of the others they revealed nothing. The moment it was clear they were ready to start on their way again, Shale began to walk, and they began to follow.

Despite her need to talk, Nike found herself silent for quite a while after they'd started on their way. Morrigan, if she was bothered, said nothing. She merely sat and held Nike around the waist, watching the trees slowly pass or occasionally turning her face up toward the warming sun.

Nike, whose thoughts seemed to be running in disorganized chaos, finally put them into some shaky semblance of order, and made sure that the others were far enough away they could not easily be overheard.

"Do you believe in premonitions?" Nike asked at last, and Morrigan gave a light hum.

"I certainly do," she said. "It is not an uncommon talent among mages."

"I'm not a mage."

"Tis true. Are you having premonitions?"

"I don't…know."

"I have not heard of this gift among Wardens," Morrigan said. "But there is much I have not heard of among Wardens. It is not a group I have studied extensively. Why do you feel you are having premonitions?"

"I've just had the strangest feeling since leaving Redcliffe to find Shale. Like I'm not going to come back again."

"That is not premonition, that is merely normal paranoia," Morrigan said. Nike frowned.

"I'm serious."

"So am I," Morrigan said. "I do not mean this as an insult; far from! However, you are hunted. There is a price upon your head. You are also engaged in dangerous work, on a dangerous path, unsure of what to expect next. There are numerous and very real threats to your life, in many different guises. You are not used to this."

So I'm just a spoiled, pampered noble who until recently never once had to fear much more than boredom at a summer salon, suddenly stuck in hell and turned paranoid because of it? Nike thought, chewing this over. Then she thought of the stable fire, and amended herself. Ok, maybe once I had to fear more.

When she said nothing, Morrigan tried a gentle tease again, perhaps afraid she'd truly upset Nike. "Is paranoia not better than a true premonition in this case?"

Nike weighed that. "I suppose you're right," she said. "I think I'd much rather just be paranoid than having a real premonition of my own death. I hear the food in the asylums is at least somewhat decent, though the beds may be lacking."

She imagined she felt some faint loosening of tension in Morrigan's arms, some relief that Nike was not angry at her.

"Indeed," she said lightly. "Fear is no bad thing, Nike. Animals fear, and feel no shame from it. Fear keeps one alive."

"I've hunted many rabbits," Nike said. "Startle them enough, frighten them enough, and they become paralyzed with it. They'll watch the hounds all the way up until the moment jaws close on their backs, and not move a muscle, because of fear."

"You are judging rabbits unfairly," Morrigan said, just as lightly. "And yourself. Have you not also seen many rabbits run?"

"Well, yes…"

"And have you seen no rabbits fight?" Morrigan asked, and Nike frowned again. She had, actually. When a hound caught onto a rabbit and managed to corner it, she had seen more than one rabbit turn upon the hound, biting and slashing at its face- such a little thing so vicious against a creature a hundred times its size. Most of the time, the rabbit ended up dead anyway, but occasionally their move would hurt or startle the dog just enough the bunny was able to slip away and get back down its hole.

"Much has happened to you in a short period of time," Morrigan said. "Only a fool would not be afraid, but not once have you been paralyzed from it."

"Once I was," Nike said softly. "When I first left Highever, after my family was killed, I couldn't do much more than just curl up at night and try to make the world vanish."

"Twas not fear," Morrigan said in a remarkably gentle voice. "That was grief."

Another long pause. The horses were winding along a narrow path now, one that was growing stonier. They were flanked on the right by the mountain stream which had widened nearly to a small river. On the left, sheer gray rocks frosted with moss and ferns and lichen rose into the morning mist.

"So, paranoia," Nike said at last, trying to sound as light as Morrigan had. "That's good to know."

Morrigan laughed slightly, a brief sound that nonetheless did more toward gentling Nike's mood than anything else. "Yes," she said. "However, the more I think upon it, the more I do not think it fits."

"You don't think I'm paranoid?"

"Is it truly paranoia when everyone really is trying to kill you?" Morrigan asked. Now it was Nike's turn to laugh.

"Not everyone's trying to kill me," she said. "I mean, you're not, right?"

Morrigan hummed again, the sound amused, and Nike cocked a grin and half turned toward her. "Right?"

"What a lovely day! I truly do not get to the mountains as often as I would like," the mage replied, and now Nike really did laugh, loud enough that Leliana and Alistair, riding just ahead, turned and blinked back at them.

The twin owlish looks on their faces only made Nike laugh the harder, trying to stifle it behind one hand. Morrigan, infected, put her forehead against Nike's shoulder and tried to muffle her own in her back.

"Everything ok?" Alistair asked slowly, and Nike roared until tears came out of her eyes.

Slowly, the path began to widen as it shifted slightly downhill and they started into a small valley. Just as slowly, Nike's laughter turned into giggling, then joyful sniffles as she wiped her eyes and damp cheeks on her sleeve.

"Thank you, Morrigan," she said at last, once they'd both finally gotten under control again. "I think I really needed that."

"Glad to have been of service," the mage replied with a genteel tilt of her head.

Nike felt a low heat begin in her cheeks and ducked her head slightly, wiping her sleeve over her face again though it was well dry. A tremor of nerves fluttered her stomach.

You stood up to a demon but can't do this?

"Morrigan, when…when we were in the Fade-"

That was all she managed to say. The horses had left the rocky path and they had come into the little valley. The stream they'd been following came down from a crack in the rock wall ahead, the small waterfall dazzling with gold and rainbow light. Near it, another wider crack seemed to show the path forward, and from here it looked steep and unpleasant. Boulders, some the size of small huts, littered the tiny valley, as did old fallen trees. Knotted pines clung precariously to the cliffs around them, each looking as if they just might be the next to tumble down.

Holly, who had been trotting happily at Angry Horse's side, suddenly jolted to a halt, a snarl nearly as loud as a whipcrack tearing through her throat. Nike reflexively looked down at her in surprise, and had only a momentary glimpse of the mabari's ruff lifted like the mane of a jungle lion, teeth bared to the gums.

Five. Four. Three. Two…

Something hissed as it darted past Nike's nose. She twisted around, then grabbed for the reins hard as Angry Horse reared back. In the same moment Morrigan, unbalanced from the horse's sudden plunge, released her hold on Nike and fell backward, transforming into a raven in a rush of feathers and a surprised 'crrraawwwwwk!'

As the horse dropped back down and began to leap forward, something hit Nike in the chest. There was a lash of pain, her hands tore free of the reins, and as she fell she saw the shaft of an arrow standing up in front of her eyes, the fletching the same gray and white as the distant mountain mists.

One.