As they emerged from the grove, they found Leliana and Shale with the horses that Wynne and Sten had apparently rounded up. Among the mounts were several new ones, confirmed to be the horses that the Crows had brought with them as Zevran approached a handsome palomino and began to murmur to it.
Holly was there as well, meeting them as they emerged from the trees, and giving the elf a distrustful snarl as she did. Nike wasn't entirely sure, but she thought the elf slightly hunched when he saw her, his hand shifting ever so faintly as if he had just restrained himself from covering his 'treasured jewels'.
Alistair, heading over to sit down again with Wynne as Leliana dug the edevas out of the saddle bags, caught Nike's arm as she moved past toward Angry Horse.
"Are you sure you're all right?" he asked.
"I'm fine, Alistair. Let Wynne take care of your back." She looked down at herself. Beside the hole in her shirt it was stiff with blood now, as were her trousers. "I'm going to change. Wynne! There were two others with the Crows unaccounted for. Elven men, one ginger and one dark."
"The ginger fell to my own arrow," Leliana said, before Wynne could respond.
"The dark-haired elf is dead as well," Wynne added with a nod, then smirked with wry amusement at the golem. "I set his arm afire and Shale put it out with its foot. With great vigor."
"Its attack prolonged my obligation to travel with you squishy things," the golem said without apology. "I do not like delays."
"Well, thank you Shale," Nike told it, digging in her bag for clean clothes, scowling as it took her some time to find a set that passed the smell test.
I really need to get some more clothing the moment we can manage it, she thought, grimacing. Looking back down at the hole in her shirt she added silently, and perhaps some leather armor.
Retreating around one of the large boulders, she quickly changed, wishing yet again for a decent place to have a bath. Picking up her blood-soaked cast offs she sat down on a nearby stump and turned them over in her hands, her fingers finding the rip in the shirt again.
Balling them up she got abruptly to her feet and headed back to the others, stuffing the dirty garments back into her pack. Alistair had the knife out of his back now, and his armor partially removed. He looked a little flushed as Wynne bent to examine where the knife had gone in. Leliana was already putting away the rest of the edevas.
"Everything all right?" Nike asked, and Wynne nodded at her. "It was shallow enough, and has closed nicely."
"Then let's get moving again," Nike said. She did not immediately head for Angry Horse however, but toward the extra mounts. Zevran, still standing with the palomino, watched her with interest as she began to dig in their packs for anything of use. She passed the small vials of edevas she found off to Leliana, then pulled out a tunic and measured it against herself.
"Shopping?" Zevran asked with a smile, and she gave him a glare.
"I'm running quite thin on wearable clothing," she said tautly, and folding up the tunic she cast it over her shoulder, before she started to unsaddle the horse.
"Are you running short on saddles?" he asked, his grin broadening, but this time it was Morrigan who answered him.
"I am running short on patience," she said. "You are fortunate to still be breathing. The blood binding does not require you keep your tongue as well."
"Hmm," he said, then glanced over to the two dead bodies of the Crows nearest to him, before looking at Nike askance. "If you had any interest, Telfe wore a pair of rather nice daggers. And while your bow is far finer than hers was, she also had quite a few arrows left."
A dozen cutting things were on the edge of Nike's tongue to say, but she resisted the temptation. Instead, she gave him another look before heading over to the body he'd been looking at. Gripping hold of the small female elf, she rolled her onto her back.
She looks so young, was her first thought, before her eyes travelled down to the assassin's waist and the quiver there. A dozen arrows, with that same soft gray fletching, were still there. One or two had been snapped when she fell but the majority remained intact. Any remorse Nike may have felt that this girl was dead vanished quickly on seeing them.
She crouched, reaching first for the arrows, but her hand hesitated. She felt repulsed even touching them to put them into her own quiver, and decided actually setting one to string would probably be ten times worse. Instead, she drew one of the daggers hilted at the front of the belt, and regarded it.
It was nice. The handle appeared to be smoothly polished antler or bone, worn enough to feel like silk in her hand. The blade was curved, bright, and keen, and nearly as long as her forearm. Slipping it back in the sheath she unfastened the dead woman's belt and straightened, fastening it to her own waist.
With the others she finished unsaddling the extra horses and sending them out into the valley with quick slaps of their hands. They were nice mounts, but trying to take them along through the pass would only slow them down even further. Left to their own devices chances were the horses would make it back on their own to some sign of civilization, if they were not caught and eaten by wolves first. At least without their saddles and tack they'd have that much more chance not to be grabbed or snagged up on something.
Morrigan did not help in the unsaddling, but kept her eyes on Zevran. He studiously avoided her gaze, wisely remaining silent and making no move away from his own horse before they mounted up. As soon as he was in the saddle, she suddenly changed into her raven form, rising up with a firm flap of her wings and nipping his ear sharply before she glided over and landed on Nike's shoulder. The elf's fingers flew to his ear and came back with blood. As he looked at Nike, visibly about to let off some witty remark, Nike just pointed to him to precede her down the path. He nodded and then obliged, and they were on their way again.
Once out of the valley the path grew steeper and rockier, switching back on itself sharply and narrow enough they had to ride single file. Nike remained at the end of the line, with Shale and then Alistair leading their little company. Zevran, seeming unconcerned with her behind him, frequently began to hum or to whistle, taking visibly deep breaths of the crisp mountain air.
It quickly became apparent that they were not going to reach their destination by sundown, and it was well after dark before they were able to come down out of the pass proper and find a spot to camp. Shale seemed a little frustrated with this, and insisted if they kept on they could be to the village before dawn. When told it was far too dangerous, it only huffed something about 'squishy creatures' before once again taking up a silent and stoic vigil outside of camp and thoroughly ignoring all of them.
The fire was started, and as food began to warm Nike realized the others were all staring at her. Her mind was far away, as it had been since they'd first left that little valley behind. She kept thinking about seeing that arrow in her chest, about the half-seen, dreamlike images. Holly's snarl. The flashing of hooves. Being dragged.
Morrigan's face, so wide-eyed.
So frightened.
Before, Nike would have laughed at the idea that pretty much anything could frighten Morrigan. She took on demons like she took on everything else, with a long-suffering air, as if such a thing was merely an annoying inconvenience. But that look, the blood magic- and her fury with Zevran had gone way past her usual acerbic sarcasm and right into murderous.
Realizing the others were staring at her, she blinked at them warily. "What?"
"Are you sure you're all right?" Wynne asked. Alistair looked like he wanted to say something, but then also glanced at the others and instead merely poked moodily at the fire.
"I'm fine," she said, and unconsciously touched her chest again. "I don't think I'm very hungry. I'm going to go and see if I can find somewhere to clean up a bit more."
"There is a stream just over that way," Zevran said, his voice jovial and companionable, as he came over to the fire and sat, beaming at the others as if they were not all glaring at him with varying degrees of heat. "It is quite invigorating!"
Her glare toward him was no cooler than the others, and she merely gave a tense 'thanks' before getting up.
"Nike," Alistair said, half rising too, but when she looked at him he looked self-conscious again, and slowly resumed his seat. "Just be careful."
"There is no threat at the stream," she said, unable to keep her sarcasm out of her voice as she looked again at the elf, happily warming his hands. "Zevran's life depends on it, remember?"
"That's right!" Zevran said. "It is safe, you have my word."
Shaking her head, she headed toward the stream, pausing only to grab one of her purloined tunics from her bag. The moon at least was full, and there was light to see by as she reached the pebbly little shore, and sat down. Taking off her old tunic she took a few handfuls of frigid water from the stream and sponged off as best she could, then slipped on the new one. Her red hands ached from the cold water as she took another scoop and scrubbed it over her face. Tiny drops, like diamonds in the moonlight, slowly dripped off her nose and chin as she watched the rushing water.
"I saw the Fade again," she said quietly, after a time. "I didn't realize what it was at first. It looked just like the same valley. Then I saw the City…"
Silence. She gently wiped the back of one hand over her nose, clearing another tiny gathering drop there, whisking it away.
"Your blood magic pulled me right back out of it almost the moment I arrived, Morrigan. Thank you."
Silence. The mage barely shifted a single pebble as she set her staff against one of the larger rocks nearby, then stepped over and sat down beside Nike in the moonlight.
"Twas only fair," she said lightly. "You saved my life. Now we are even."
"Even?" Nike said, and looked over at her. She looked just like the night around them, outlined in liquid silver from the moon. When Morrigan said nothing, and did not even look at her, Nike turned her attention back on the water.
Maker take it all anyway.
"I lied to you, Morrigan. When I told you about what happened to me in the Fade, when I was enthralled by that demon in the Tower."
"Oh?" Her voice was stiff, guarded, but unsurprised.
She expects me to lie to her, Nike realized with an ache in her chest. She expects everyone to lie to her, and why not? That's all her mother ever did; lie to her.
"I was at Highever," she said. "My family, safe and alive again. Everything…everything I ever wanted was there. Everything I needed to make me happy. You were there."
"Oh." This 'oh' sounded hesitant, uncertain. Uncomfortable. The silence between them grew again. Nike had wound her arms around her knees. Now, she reached down and played with the pebbles around them, finding one with half-numb fingers and flicking it into the stream.
"Did you really save my life just so we'd be even?" Nike asked.
"No," Morrigan said. "You are my friend, Nike. The first one I have ever had. I may still be learning what that means, but even I understand that I do not want to lose that. Even I understand that if it is in your power to save the life of a friend, you do it."
Doubt crept in then, and Nike found another pebble and cast it after the first one into the stream.
"Yes," she said quietly.
Morrigan hadn't known what it was like to have a friend. Nike had no want to lose any of her friends either; not Tahja, or Alistair, or any of them. It made sense that Morrigan would be clumsy and uncertain when it came to letting someone in, letting herself have a friend. It made sense that she didn't want to lose the only person in her life that had ever seemed to care about her, to hear her, to see her.
Then Nike's brows knit. "Why did you leave Zevran alive?"
"I am sorry?"
"I gave you leave to kill him if you wanted," she said, and finally looked over at Morrigan. The mage was as studiously not looking at her as Nike had been a moment ago. "You were angry enough to do so. I saw your hands light with fire. You were going to, weren't you? You were going to kill him, right then and there. Incinerate him as you incinerated the other man. But you stopped, the moment he said he understood. You stopped and did the blood-binding instead. Why?"
"I suppose you are a bad influence," Morrigan told her. "Mother always said friends were a bad influence."
Nike couldn't help the faint smile. "Come on, Morrigan," she said.
"I do not know what you expect me to say."
"I don't expect you to say anything," she said, then sighed heavily, covering her face. "I guess it's the kittens again. I've corrupted you into rescuing kittens."
Her words were light, teasing, but her voice was just weary and resigned. Then, tentatively, an arm gently wound around her shoulders. She stiffened a moment, feeling gooseflesh tingle over her skin for reasons that had nothing to do with the cold mountain air. Slowly unwinding her own arm from about her knees, she put her arm around Morrigan's waist. The pebbles made faint sounds as the two women shifted over, their hips closing the few inches of distance between them.
Nike leaned against Morrigan's shoulder, and Morrigan leaned back, and in silence the two watched the moonlight on the cold, clear stream, and said nothing more.