Yellow
(Varric)
She had golden hair and clever brown eyes; eyes that told you she'd steal the boots right off your feet if you weren't paying enough attention. She was the first real friend Varric could remember having, all the way from the day they met, both trying to use the same hiding space (a crawlspace under someone's house in Lowtown). He'd broken some plate the Bartrand had brought with him from Orzammar, and was trying to avoid the inevitable explosion; he never found out what she'd run from, though from how dirty and thin she was then, he'd wager she'd been running for a while. But despite their strange meeting, she was a surprisingly loyal companion; she didn't mind that Varric was busy between keeping his mother's outbursts out of sight and watching Bartrand's back when he was too stiff-necked to watch his own, didn't call it "groveling" or "forgetting his dwarven pride" when he had to make nice with someone his brother had pissed off, and listened to all his stories with rapt attention, so long as he used a properly dramatic voice to tell the tale. She'd been shy at first, only coming around when she could see that Varric had food to share, and always keeping away from Varric's home itself, preferring to meet him elsewhere. As time went on, however, familiarity bred comfort and trust, and she no longer hesitated to meet him near the door, and one day even accepted an invitation to come inside. As they both grew up and grew older, she took the invitation to warm his bed, as well.
A bed she was taking up far too much room on at the moment. Varric blinked himself awake, and found he had a face full of that golden yellow hair. "Bianca, move." A sleepy grumble, but no attempt to comply. He sighed and shrugged; it was daylight, so he might as well get up. He spoke to her as he got dressed. "All right girl, you go ahead and sleep in." Huh. Only one boot by the bed. He must have kicked the other one somewhere. "I guess I'll be the one who gets up and goes to work again. I keep thinking one of these days it has to be your turn; it's not fair that it's always mine." He looked over and found one of those clever brown eyes looking up at him from under the yellow hair...and his boot folded underneath Bianca's two front paws.
"Ruff," was all she answered.
Rough, indeed.