Author's Note: This is the last of the pre-"Moments" chapters. From here on out, I'll be reposting (and hopefully adding new chapters) as each of the companions are added.


"When the Man waked up he said,
'What is Wild Dog doing here?'
And the Woman said,
'His name is not Wild Dog any more,
but the First Friend,
because he will be our friend
for always and always and always.'"

- Rudyard Kipling


He keeps his nose to the ground, snuffling among the tufted grass and dust, following the scent of the female. She is gone now, and he does not understand why, so he has begun to track her. Her scent is clear in his nose, and yet still muddled, somehow, so many different scents swirling together to make the one. She baffles him, fascinates him, but has made it clear that she has no tolerance for his attempts to satisfy his curiosity.

Her scent changes now, one of the many becoming more pronounced, and he moves forward eagerly, but then it is...gone. He lifts his head, staring around in befuddlement, then drops it again, circling wide and sniffing furiously, but finding nothing.

"Lose something, boy?" He lifts his head again, staring at the male – Alistair is what his Talia calls him. He cocks his head, whining anxiously.

"She'll be back," his Talia says, pausing in packing up her tent to scratch his head. Her voice is toneless, as it has been from the moment she emerged from the hut, and the scent of grief is still strong on her.

"Yes, my luck couldn't possibly be that good," Alistair mutters. He and the female argue frequently; his Talia ignores them, as she ignores most things these days. She even frequently forgets to pet him unless he reminds her by nudging his head beneath her hand, but when he sits beside her at night, she wraps her arms around him and leans her head against his neck, and he can feel the sorrow rolling from her in waves.

"She's better at scouting ahead than either of us," she says now with a shrug. "She's made good on her claim that she could lead us past the -" She breaks off suddenly, her head turning and a hungry expression appearing on her face. "Darkspawn."

Brego is instantly alert, reacting to the change in her tone and the sudden scent of aggression rising from her pores. Alistair does not notice, his attention focused upon pulling on his boots. "She has done that," he agreed with obvious reluctance, "but it's likely because even the darkspawn don't want to be around – what?"

Alistair's head comes up, eyes widening as he senses it now, but unlike the anticipation that Brego can feel radiating from his Talia, the male's scent is one of apprehension. "Wonderful," he groans, pushing himself to his feet as a raven wings into the camp and settles to the ground at Brego's feet.

He stares down at the bird in surprise; it stares back boldly with golden eyes, and, when he lowers his head for a cautious sniff, it pecks his nose. He snorts and shakes his head, then growls, but it regards him fearlessly, hops back and shimmers upward into the form of the female who smells of many things.

"You would do well to turn your attention elsewhere," she advises him with a smirk before turning to address his Talia. "There are perhaps a dozen darkspawn headed in this direction; it seems they have sensed your presence."

"Ogres?" his Talia asks, slipping her helmet onto her head and bending to retrieve her shield.

"None that I saw, nor emissaries," she replies as Alistair begins to speak. "A single alpha hurlock, leading a group of genlocks and hurlocks.

"No chance we can avoid them?" Alistair asks, hurriedly mirroring his Talia's actions, looking considerably less eager.

"As I said, they seem to have sensed you," the female replies with a sniff. "If we try to flee, they will follow, and likely attract more in the process. 'Tis best to deal with them here and now, would you not say?"

"Fine by me." His Talia is already striding out of camp, eyes scanning the surrounding terrain. Brego quickly wheels and leaps to follow her, because now he can smell them on the cool morning air: the sickly sweet stench of dead flesh, the sharp tang of blood, and something else: a dark swirling odor of corruption that belongs to the darkspawn alone.

"Talia!" Alistair's voice behind them goes unheeded, and moments later, Brego can hear the footfalls of the male behind them, speeding as his Talia breaks into a run, sweeping her sword from its sheath. He can see them now: some short and stocky, others taller and long-limbed, all with teeth bared in an unchanging snarl, eyes red-rimmed and burning with hate.

His Talia never slows, plowing into the vanguard, slamming some aside with her shield, slashing indiscriminately at others with her blade, her eyes fixed on the tallest of the group: the leader, and her battle cry drawing an answering howl from the mabari:

"Come on, then!"

The force of her charge drives them together out of the midst of the group, and she gives it no chance to recover: sword opening great gashes in the skin, shield blocking its blade and delivering punishing, smashing blows that keep it staggering backward. She is heedless of those she has put her back to, and two of them turn on her immediately. The attack of the first misses, but the wickedly hooked blade of the second catches her in the back of her left shoulder and drags downward in a shower of broken chain links and blood.

She staggers slightly, her shield arm drooping, and the scent of her blood sends Brego into a rage of his own. In an instant, he is upon her attacker, bearing the creature to the ground, his teeth seeking the soft flesh of the throat and biting deep. His mouth fills with the foul taste of the dark blood, and he shakes his head savagely, snarling deep in his chest, until his foe goes limp beneath him.

He lifts his head, searching fearfully for his Talia, but she has recovered from the surprise of the wound and rallied to finish off the leader, who lays in a spreading pool of dark blood as she whirls to engage the second of her attackers. Behind them, Alistair has squared off against three more, his movements controlled and deliberate, his shield denying them access while his sword darts out again and again to draw blood. A gout of flame to the right sets several more ablaze, announcing the female's entry into the fight.

As he has been trained, he comes in low, teeth slashing across the back of first one leg, then the other, hamstringing his mistress' opponent. As the thing crumples backward, his Talia presses forward, her face a mask of rage as she drives her sword deep into its chest, wrenches it free and spins to throw herself at the darkspawn attacking Alistair.

He is moving to follow her when a sudden change in the currents of air nearby draws his attention. A startled yelp escapes him when he turns to find himself facing an enormous spider that he knows had not been there a moment before. Almost instantly, training and breeding reassert themselves, and he is gathering himself to leap at this new threat when the smell reaches him: the same one that has baffled and lured him for days, though now yet another of the many that make up the whole is dominant. It is the female in yet another form.

Mandibles, as sharp as any blade and dripping with an acrid fluid, plunge into one of the darkspawn who survived the burst of flame; it gives a single convulsive shudder and is still. Instinct propels him forward at one of the tall ones who is rushing at the spider from behind, its blade raised to strike. His weight catches it full in the chest, his mouth closing on the arm that bears the weapon, and there is the satisfying crunch of bone and another gush of the foul blood into his mouth, and then the arm drops away, sword and all; an instant later and he has torn the throat out of this one, as well.

As quickly as it began, the fight is done; his Talia spins away from her last kill, eyes still blazing with bloodlust, looking for another target, and when Alistair reaches out a hand to her shoulder, she turns on him, sword raised, then hesitates.

"I -" She stares at him, the scent of rage fading, confusion and sorrow taking its place. "I'm sorry, Alistair."

"No harm done," he assures her, though his eyes are wide and the scent of apprehension is strong on him. "Just...don't run ahead like that, okay?"

"I - I didn't realize I had." She stares around, her expression dazed, as though she does not quite remember the fight. "I was in camp...wasn't I? And then Morrigan came back, and -" She breaks off, her brow furrowed.

"Lovely." The female has shifted back to her own form and approaches now, regarding his Talia with an expression of wary irritation. "It seems that your fellow Warden has berserker tendencies. That should improve our chances markedly."

His Talia frowns and shakes her head. "I'm not -" she starts to say, but sways and slumps forward, her sword falling from her hand.

Alistair catches her before she can hit the ground and looks at the blood on his hands with dismay. "Morrigan, she's hurt!"

"Is that supposed to surprise me?" The female steps forward, eyes narrowed in irritation as she crouches to examine the wound across his Talia's back. "Get away, you mangy hound!" She shoves him back as he tries to nudge forward, whining anxiously. "Your drool is not what she needs in an open wound! Carry her back to camp." This last, curt command is issued to Alistair, who obeys, ignoring his Talia's protest that she can walk. Sword and shield are left behind, and after a moment of indecision, Brego closes his jaws around the hilt of the sword and drags it gingerly toward the camp. The blade is important to his Talia; he can still catch traces of the scent of her sire in the leather of its grip.

He paces anxiously as they remove her armor, but refrains from whining after a glare from the female.

"I'll just...fix this," Alistair says, taking up the damaged mail shirt and backing away as the female begins to remove his Talia's tunic.

"Do," the female replies dryly, turning to fix her golden gaze upon Brego. "Now, if you are truly as intelligent as is claimed, you will fetch me my herb pouch without slobbering all over it."

Herb pouch. Yes, he knows this: it is the smaller of the two packs the female carries, and is the source of all manner of interesting smells. He tried to investigate it once, and received a rather nasty shock from its owner. He approaches it cautiously now, giving his head a good, hard shake before closing his teeth gingerly around one of the straps and carrying it back to where the female is using water and a cloth to clean the blood from the raw flesh of his Talia's wound.

"I'll be fine," his Talia protests, her voice muffled from being face down upon a bedroll.

"If this wound heals improperly, the movement of your left arm will be permanently impaired," the female informs her crisply. "With that in mind, I suggest that you cease such foolish attempts at bravado and allow me to do what I can." She glances back, dark eyebrows arched slightly in surprise. "It seems that you may be good for something besides eating and producing disgusting odors...which makes you a more useful companion than Alistair."

"And more pleasant than Morrigan," Alistair replies, settling to the ground and beginning to match up the ragged edges of the chainmail, pulling more of the tiny rings from a pouch in his pack. "Mind you, that's not hard."

"And should I be wounded by such harsh judgment?" she inquires, running a finger along the edge of the gaping wound and whispering words that swirl around Brego, unintelligible and unknowable.

"That's cold!" his Talia protests, staring to push herself up, but the female places a hand on her head and presses her right back down.

"Yes, it is. 'Twill numb the skin so that I may bring the edges of the wound together with needle and gut string to speed the healing. If you waste time arguing, however, the effects will wear off, and I do not intend to cast a second time."

His Talia subsides with a final grumble, and the female withdraws a needle and thread from the pack he has brought, and sets to work, her movements swift and sure. Bit by bit, the gaping wound closes, and when she is finished, she lays a pungent smelling poultice over the length of it.

"If you lie still, it should be healed within a few hours; I would suggest that we remain here for another day."

His Talia seems ready to protest further, but after a moment, she nods and relaxes. "Tired," she mumbles, her eyes drifting shut, then popping open again. "Brego. Is he -"

"The beast is fine," the female tells her, drawing a blanket over her bare back. "I shall give him some bloodflower paste to counteract any affect the darkspawn blood might have had on him."

He whines at this. He knows the word 'bloodflower' to mean a bitter tasting stuff that his Talia feeds him after every fight with the darkspawn.

"Do as she tells you, Brego," his Talia tells him, her voice heavy with weariness, and that ends any hesitation on his part. He watches as the female withdraws a small, round wooden box from her pack and opens it to reveal a pinkish-gray paste. She swipes some up on a finger and holds it out to him, grimacing as he dutifully licks it off. It is not as bad as the darkspawn blood, but it is bitter, and he can feel the juices flooding his mouth in response.

He backs well away from the female before shaking his head, swallowing and working his jaws convulsively. A pool of stagnant water is nearby, and he buries his snout in it willingly, gulping down the stale water to clear the other taste from his mouth.

The female watches him, her expression resigned. "That should do wonders for the consistency of your bowels," she murmurs tartly. "I shall scout the area again, to be certain that the fight did not draw more darkspawn...and perhaps try to catch a hare for our dinner." Her form shimmers again, and a hawk, its feathers a gleaming brown and gold, lifts into the sky on powerful wings.

He stares after her, pondering. She was undoubtedly a part of the older female's pack, but she accompanied them now, and fought beside them. Twice, she had helped his Talia when she was hurt, and his Talia had ordered him to obey her. It seemed that she was part of their pack now, as well.

He pondered for a few moments longer to remember the name that his Talia and Alistair called her by.

Morrigan. The female's name was Morrigan.