"Rav!" Zacky called out in distress.

Raviathan put Justen down with a quick kiss on his little cousin's head. Zacky cried out again, his tears evident in voice. Children ran around him as they played their games. Shining hair and bright eyes contrasted with the muted colors of their clothes and the mud-covered misery around them. Their laughter mocked the alienage's despair, kept light the hearts of those who heard. The vhenadahl rustled when a chill wind escaped over the alienage walls. The tree reached high enough that it's tallest branches rivalled the nearby buildings, its white, blue, and indigo paint glowing with life. Sunlight trickled through the leaves to make lace-like patterns on the ground.

Tear tracks streamed down Zacky's hollowed cheeks. Raviathan made a mental note to talk to Venri about the children's care. Many of them were looking thinner than he remembered. "What's wrong, little bird?"

All the children wanted affection, but the orphans were starved for touch. Given the chance, they clung to him like squirrels to a tree. Zacky hiccuped, shifting to settle into Raviathan's lap. A fresh scrape bloodied the child's knee. "They won't let me play."

"Why not?" Raviathan held him tight, the child folded in his arms. They got so little attention, the orphans. Justen sat next to them, resting his head on Zacky's back.

"It's because he's smaller," Justen said. "When we were playing lines, he couldn't break through. He got pushed down and hurt his knee."

"Is that true?"

"So what if I'm smaller?" Zacky's chest jerked in a sob.

"That's right," Raviathan said, kissing Zacky's soft hair. "So what. That's the smartest thing you could say, little bird. We're smaller than humans, right?" Zacky nodded, his little head tucked into Raviathan's chest. "But have you seen their flat eyes? Or those ugly red bumps they get on their faces? Or those silly ears of theirs? Heh. I'd much rather be an elf. You know what? Next time, sneak under their arms." Zacky gave a little laugh. "You can only do that once because they'll start to expect it. So you know what you do then? Tickle them. Right under their arms. Just like this!"

Zacky shrieked, squirming around in Raviathan's lap. Instead of sending Zacky back to play with the rest, Raviathan made up a story for the two boys. Tales of Hairy the Werewolf always entertained Zacky. The poor child had been born underweight then left alone when his mother died of alcohol poisoning, but his will and determination touched Raviathan and gave the boy a special place in his heart. Odd what touched him. It wasn't the most talented or the prettiest, it was the ones who tried the hardest. They were his favorite of the children.

More shrieks came from the children, high and piercing. The sound caught his attention. Laughter and panic were hard to discern, but this had a tone he wasn't used to hearing.

Red-headed Aenera ran around the corner first followed by a half dozen others. Raviathan's heart skipped a painful beat at the look of fear on their faces. No game. The children were terrified.

Swinging Zacky under the platform, Raviathan ran towards whatever danger lurked behind the building.

A werewolf bounded around the corner, his long limbs devouring space as he ran. Long talons swung out. A scream wrenched from the child who spun from the brutal strike, long gashes shown in tender flesh down to his broken spine. The child howled as his blood pooled in the furrows of mud.

No!

A second werewolf came. Fangs bared, the two continued in their vicious onslaught. Raviathan screamed, unable to stop the carnage. His legs wouldn't move fast enough. He had no weapon, no way to stop the horror before him.

Serrena, an extraordinarily beautiful child with a wreath of lustrous sun-colored hair, cried as fangs shredded her shoulder. Blood ran down her dress in a river. Her azure eyes met his, begging for help, terrified with pain. He could do nothing to stop the werewolf from tearing her body apart. Ropes of pink intestines clung to the werewolf's claws.

Raviathan screamed as if he was dying.

He woke with a start. Raviathan could feel his heart beating at a pace he associated with battle. He lay in his tent, gulping in frosty air that burned his lungs from cold. Maker, he hated this forest. His heart took a good few minutes to relax into its normal, steady pace. Sleep would be long in coming.

Instead of lying in the tent with his mind tumbling about, Raviathan pulled on his cold boots and cloak to go sit by the dying camp fire. To his annoyance, not only was the fire down to a few embers, the person on guard duty was missing. Probably off to relieve their bladder, but the fire should never have gotten to this pathetic state. Raviathan tossed a few pinecones into the fire pit, two logs on top, and let his magic slowly heat the fire so that it looked natural when the person on guard duty returned.

Raviathan ran his fingers through his hair and sat with his head in his hands. This whole quest had been a debacle from the start. They couldn't work together as a team, everyone constantly sniped at each other, and this mission was now bordering on the ludicrous. He felt an utter fool leading the insane.

Blast these people! Why couldn't they, just once, follow orders without glares or questions? They chose to be here, so why did they push him at every opportunity? Bad enough he knew he had no idea what the right course of action was, did the rest have to keep reminding him?

Shoulders tense with resentment, Raviathan raised his head back up to measure the growth of the fire. And just where in the Maker's name was their guard? Did that moron leave off again chasing some wisp to his death? Would serve him right.

The fire popped but shed no more light than before. Raviathan scowled at it. His magic should have it at a comfortable if small blaze by now. He added more force to his magic, but nothing. What in the world? A scrape caught his attention, and he looked up into the shadows of the forest.

Dozens of pairs of eyes stared back from the shadows. Raviathan went still as a chill numbed his body. The eyes caught the low firelight and reflected it back in red and white glows. The werewolves?

"Ambush!" Raviathan reached for his weapons to find nothing but air. He hadn't donned his armor or weapons. Defenseless. "Wake up! Ambush!"

Silence from the tents.

From the forest, the eyes moved, coming closer, stalking him. Maker's ass, where were the others? Raviathan kicked at the closest tent to no avail.

A low growl, almost too low to hear, vibrated through the thin air. Raviathan's gut clenched in fear. Where was everyone? "Venger!"

Escape. Where? Climb a tree?

Raviathan yelled for help as the eyes came closer.

Movement flashed at the corner of his eye, then long, yellow teeth sank into Raviathan's face.

Raviathan woke with a gasp, his body jerking. Next to him Venger let out a little whine, feet twitching in his sleep. Paranoid, Raviathan grasped his sword and poked his head out of his tent. Sten sat by the ash pit of their campfire, ignoring the drizzle. Without looking at him, Sten said, "It was a dream. Go back to sleep."

Sweat chilled Raviathan, making his clothes uncomfortable as if he had worn them for too long without a wash. He ducked back in, lay his sword next to him, and curled up on his side. A dream like that would have kept him up for hours, but they were all too exhausted to miss out on any sleep, bad as sleep could be. In a few minutes, his mind shut down.

The sound of children playing drifted like music in the alienage.

"Rav," Zacky called out in distress.

~o~O~o~

Rain continued to fall as it had for the last three days, numbing them all until warmth became a memory. Though in mid-spring, the land remained in the grip of the frozen southern winds. Raviathan glared at the cliff's edge as if it personally insulted him. The wind howled up from the mountain side, pressing against him like an invisible hand, sending the rain sideways. The forest spread out like a blanket below them, showing off all shades of verdant hues hidden behind veils of grey rain. Raviathan would have reveled in the new sights and beauty of this land if it wasn't constantly trying to kill him.

Even with the Elder Tree's branch, the forest didn't open for them as it did for the werewolves. The terrain no longer changed on them, and unnatural mists didn't turn them around anymore, but the forest continued to be a challenge.

They started down the trail and found the narrow path in grave disrepair. Sections had been weathered away or had boulders blocking all but a hand's worth of walking space. The path curved around crumbling precipices that had Raviathan's heart skipping in staccato from the height, or fell in sudden dips that exposed sheer stretches of unforgiving granite. Thickets of saplings hindered movement and obscured passage. Nearly every step reminded Raviathan of how easily a person could be broken. He kept having visions of one of his companions crushed at the bottom of a sheer cliff's edge, bones broken, blood pooling, organs ruptured, and in agony while their life didn't pass quickly enough to escape the pain.

With his back pressed tight to the cliff's edge and a hundred foot drop just past his toes, Raviathan thought that maybe he didn't want to be a bear. Morrigan's bird form appealed to him more and more as they traversed the terrain. At odd moments he thought of jumping off the cliff, of spreading wings for flight, but his mind shut down in a clamoring 'no!' Was it normal to think of jumping off a cliff? The strange impulse wouldn't leave him alone as he finished inching across the thin path.

Alistair shrieked when loose stones caused him to skid towards the edge of the deadly fall. He found purchase long enough for the rest to wrestle him back to safety.

"You scream like a girl," Leliana said. The too high giggle in her tone hinted at frayed nerves.

"Just don't try to dress me up in heels. I don't think I have the legs for it."

"Don't be silly, Alistair. While I'm sure your legs would be well turned out in high heels, a pair of duckbill shoes is more to keeping your style."

He snorted at the comment. "Less likely to break an ankle, I'll bet."

Whatever Leliana would have said was lost at the resounding crack that shook the mountain beneath their feet. They had a frozen second of shared horror when the stone beneath them collapsed.

~o~O~o~

Alistair didn't move. He couldn't remember what it felt like not to hurt, but this was a whole new level. He felt like every single bit of him had bruises on top of bruises.

"Alistair? I don't suppose you could get off me?"

"Oh! I… uh." So that shifting rock underneath him was Leliana. He did his best, rocking to get some momentum since flexing his muscles to move caused searing agony. He gritted his teeth, held his breath, and shifted. With her help, he rolled to his side. Alistair didn't dare breathe for a moment as his abused ribs screamed bone-snapping pain at him.

No moving. No more moving would be nice.

"Sorry... Leliana. You alright?"

"I think so. A bit bruised but no more than expected, given what happened."

Didn't that just describe them all?

"And you?"

"No worse than usual." Alistair was not a fan of what 'usual' meant lately. "What happened? Where are the others? Where are we for that matter?"

Cautiously, Leliana sat up. Alistair could hear by the sound of her armor scraping against stone and the change from where her voice came from. "A rock slide, I think. I don't know. And in a cave of some sort? Rather hard to judge in the dark, but it feels like raw stone around us."

"Yeah." Alistair shifted a bit, and to his relief, found out that one of the sharper pains he had incurred in the fall was actually a fist sized stone he was lying on. If only that were true for the rest of his pains. "So, since we fell in there's got to be a hole or something to get out."

"Mmm… that would be true assuming that the falling rock did not block our entrance."

"Oh, Maker. I wish you hadn't said that." Slowly, achingly, Alistair tried to sit up. He remembered sliding, closing his eyes and curling up to minimize the damage, and falling. Rocks hit him from all sides. He remembered slamming into a rough wall then bouncing off to be hit by more rocks. As if the demon trees hadn't been bad enough, he didn't want to fight sentient rocks.

When he had mostly straightened to a sitting position, his head smacked the slanted rock that was their roof. "Ow!"

"Careful."

No kidding. Alistair felt around to gage the space they were in. His shoulder protested the movement, so he did what he could with his less injured arm. When a warm, soft rock jerked away, he retracted his hand as if he had been burnt. "Sorry."

"It's… fine."

Noooo, not awkward at all. "So," he drawled, "you come here often?"

Leliana made a sound like a held-in snort. "This is not the time for jokes."

Really? I think it's the perfect time for jokes. What had he touched? Her leg? "Just trying to find out what kind of space we have here. See if there's a way out." If only they could see.

There was a little sound, like a shaky breath, or maybe a sob. He went very still. "Leliana?"

Was she claustrophobic?

"I'm fine."

Yeah, right. "It's going to be okay. We'll get out of this."

He heard a sniff. "Of course." She took in another shaky breath. "You're right. Of course will find some way out."

He slid his hand over the stone floor, tentatively, and found her hand. When their hands met, she squeezed his tightly. They sat like that, in the darkness where time didn't matter, and took what comfort they could in not being alone. Alistair closed his eyes, which didn't make a difference to his vision but made him feel calmer, somehow. With his eyes open, he felt as if he was searching for answers he would never find, but with his eyes closed, he could be quieter. He could listen, offer comfort without feeling awkward as he normally did.

With closed eyes, he made this space one that was more like being inside his own head where he didn't have to worry about the judgments of others. He slid his hand up Leliana's arm using touch as his guide, then rested his arm around her shoulders. He drew her close and felt her give in. She rested her head on his shoulder and released the silent tears she had been holding back.

"It'll be alright, Leliana. We'll make it through." On impulse he kissed the top of her head.

"Do you think the others are still alive?"

Oh, Maker, but that was a scary thought. He wouldn't cry for Morrigan, but she had probably flown off leaving the rest of them to the fate of the rocks. If she was the only other one to survive, Alistair would call all to quits and book passage to the Free Marches. Sten he would be sorry to see go. The giant wasn't what he had expected given the Chantry's stories. And while he didn't like Rav, his full feelings too complicated to be put name to, he would take that hostile elf over being the last Warden. Anything but that. The Free Marches sounded better and better, given his options. "I don't know, to be honest. But if we survived, I'm sure a few if not all of the others did as well."

Leliana remained quiet save for a few sniffs. "Should we wait for rescue?"

At that question, Alistair started to fidget. Even in the peace of his own mind, the question forced him to make decisions, pushing him out of his comfortable passivity. "I, uh, perhaps we should, um, maybe get a sense of how big this cave is?"

"You're probably right." After a final sniff, Leliana straightened. "Let me. I believe it is easier for me to move about."

What she didn't say is that Alistair tended towards gracelessness, especially compared to Leliana, and Alistair was thankful for the lack of admonition. He let her shuffle about and considered, not for the first time, what training Leliana did have. She moved with a similar grace to the elf, their footfalls silent as shadows when they chose. If that wasn't suspicious enough, the Chantry wasn't known for their archers, either. Thus far Leliana had shut down every one of his cautious attempts to learn more.

Trying to make himself smaller to keep from interfering with Leliana's search, Alistair hunched in as best he could with old and new aches throbbing at the abuse he had done to his body. Injuries were nothing new, but the extent of them had never been close to what he endured over the last few months. Alistair smiled in the dark as he thought back on wanting to be in the battles with the rest of the Wardens. That wish had been granted, but the cost of it brought a familiar ache of loss. His chest clenched as if a giant hand squeezed his sternum. Time was helping, but Maker did it ever hurt.

"I think… I'm not sure, but there may be a passage. If so, it will be a tight fit."

Called out of his reverie, Alistair blinked, the action causing unshed tears to fall. "For you or me?"

A pause. "Tight for me would be near impossible for you."

"Leliana, if you can get out, go for it. Maybe you can get help, or something." Sweet of her to worry though.

"Let me check first. It may not go anywhere."

He heard her shuffle, grunt a bit, and the scrape of her armor against stone. The tunnel she found sounded as if it was behind him.

Now that he didn't have to worry about crowding or accidentally touching Leliana in awkward places, Alistair began his own exploration. The cave had a rough floor, one fairly straight wall on one side, and a sharply slanted wall he sat next to. The two walls closed off to a crack just above his arm's reach from his sitting position.

When Alistair pressed his feet against the straight wall and back against the slanted and pushed, he thought he could detect the tiniest scrape of movement. Given their fall, this slanted wall must be a boulder that had shifted during the collapse and trapped them. Instead of sliding down further, or being crushed, remarkably, they had been saved in this crevice.

A familiar dull throbbing started in Alistair's head. Headaches troubled Alistair often enough, and the fall seemed to have triggered a spell. While Leliana scraped her way through a passage, Alistair took the time to lie down and massage his forehead. Sometimes that helped. Bright lights, noise, or stress could bring on headaches. Considering how beaten down they had all been in the last months, he expected they were all on edge.

"Alistair?" Leliana's voice echoed, the passage walls giving her voice a hollow sound.

"Still here." Where else would I be?

"It will be a tight fit for you. I think it would be best on your back and to push with your legs."

"Did you find a way out?"

"There is loose rubble here. I think we can dig our way out."

Let's hope we don't bring down the mountain with us. What options did they have though? Wait for their air to run out?

"Um, wait," Leliana said. "I have an idea. You will probably have a better chance of not getting stuck if you take off your armor."

"What do you mean, get stuck?" His voice sounded an octave higher with a little squeak at the end.

There was a pause. "You probably won't be. But take off your armor, just in case."

"Hold on. If my options are to die trapped squeezed under tons of stone where I can't move and trapped where I can at least turn around a bit, I'll take my chances here, thank you."

"Do not be silly. Get over here and help me. Some of these stones are quite heavy."

Alistair sighed. "Um. How long is the passage?"

"It is not too bad. You can hear me quite clearly, can you not?"

"It's… it's not just that. I don't think… I mean…"

"Alistair. Spit it out."

Oh, Maker. She had been squiring for him while his ribs healed, but he felt oddly vulnerable here. "I need some help, I think. Hurt my shoulder, and I can't move well."

Another pause. "Ah. Hold on," she said, and even through the distortion, he could hear her exasperation. He listened with curiosity as the sound of clinks and leather made their way up the passage, then the muffled sound of Leliana working her way back to him.

The darkness did strange things to his senses. Even though it made no difference, he kept his eyes open, but other things, like distance, seemed stretched and unreal. With each pulse of his headache, he saw a red beat in the blackness.

When he heard Leliana come close, he reached out a hand along the floor to help find her. Her hand touched his after a moment of blind scrabbling.

"There you are," Leliana said, and Alistair felt a slight blush warm his cheeks. She took to positioning him as best she could in the narrow space. His ribs ached fiercely as he tried to sit straight. "Good thing I've had some practice at this. Otherwise I'd be hopeless."

Even so, she had to fumble about to find the buckles. Alistair tried not to squirm as her hands felt around his side for the catches. His armor came off, piece by piece, and he felt lighter, cooler in the cave. Normally he liked the feel of his armor, the weight of it and protection, how it dulled all the things in this world that wanted to hurt him. In the cave though, a little extra freedom went a long way.

"Your shoulders and chest will be the hardest parts to get through. I think your legs will be fine if we leave the armor on them."

"Thanks," Alistair said, a whisper in the dark that seemed very intimate the way it touched everything.

"I… yes, of course. I will, um, since I'm smaller, I'll push your armor to the other spot, yes? That way you can focus on just getting yourself through."

The fit proved as tight as he had worried. Alistair lay on his back and pushed with his legs. While he hadn't felt claustrophobic in the other chamber, when his forehead banged painfully against the stone ceiling, he became aware of all that weight supported by unsteady stones and just how easily crushed he would be. He wondered if he would make the same cracky sound as a crushed beetle, or have his innards pop in the same way. Then he wondered why his mind would think of these things. To torture him? Well, his mind could stop being a jerk and bugger off thinking these thoughts. Right now. Maybe now.

"Do you need help?"

A sharp pain in Alistair's knee reminded him that he had to shimmy his way through, inch by inch. Every squirm of his torso felt like a broken shard of glass poking into his lungs. "Probably."

Though he was in good shape, the crawl had him sweating. He couldn't wipe the sweat away, either. Couldn't move his arms in the tiny space.

He felt a hand touch his shoulder. "You're almost there."

"I think it was less trouble being born."

"Probably not for your mother."

"To be fair, I was much smaller at the time. Wonder if I'll cry again."

His torso made it halfway out of the tunnel when his head hit rocks. As his arms were still trapped, Leliana had to heave and shove and partially lift him so he could wiggle the rest of the way. "Yes. Definitely earned the right to some tears after that."

"Silly."

Unable to see, they had to negotiate the rocks with touch. Sharp pains shot through Alistair's shoulder when he had to shove the larger boulders. He ended up wobbling them to and fro, mostly with his back to the boulder and pushing with his feet. Maker, his ribs would never heal at this rate.

They both had stubbed toes and shins, had rocks tumble unexpectedly, and by the time they removed enough debris that a thin light shown through the top of the pile, were panting with exhaustion.

"Maker, though the darkness comes upon me," Leliana chanted, "I shall embrace the light."

"We've certainly endured enough trials on this trip." Alistair couldn't help a smile as the pine scent of the forest filtered into their dusty tomb.

Digging the rest of the way out went quickly now that they could see. Another hour, and the two emerged into the red haze of the dying sun.

~o~O~o~

Of all the people to be trapped with, he would be stuck with the witch. Sten rose to his feet, ignoring the new aches and pains. Some of the bruising went bone deep, but that did not matter.

If the witch did not wake soon, it would mean her concussion was serious to the point of critical. Blood stained the left side of her head. Sten shoved his pack under her feet and checked her breathing. Having exercised the extent of his healing skills, he left it at that.

Next he turned to evaluate the area around him. The cave, a rough oblong about thirty feet across, appeared to be naturally made with sheer stone on all sides. Above him an impressive latticework of tree roots made for an interesting roof, the natural wonder of it not lost on him despite his circumstance. Faint sunlight dappled the earthen ground of the cave. One large pool of sunlight pointed to the area of roots that had broken their fall before releasing them the last twenty feet to this place. Rain continued to drip but was softened by the roots.

Sten sat with his back to a wall and did not wince at the sharp stabs of pain in his ribs and side or the throbbing of a bruise in his thigh. Pondering, he considered the options. He had no rope. Scaling the walls may be possible, but that would be difficult. A few cracks and uneven sides would be the best options.

The others were either alive or dead. If dead, they were of no concern. If alive, they were either similarly trapped, injured, or about and free to move. If injured and trapped, the possibilities were that they were dying, incapacitated to the point of being unable to escape, trapped so they can't escape, or attempting escape. If injured and untrapped, they were either dying, incapacitated, or able to help. If able to help, they would either find them through searching or would need a signal.

Debris littered the cave floor, mostly wet leaves, twigs, and detritus from animals. He could collect combustibles and attempt a signal fire. Wet, they would be hard to light but would also give off more smoke. However, a signal fire would be wasted energy if the others couldn't see the smoke through the thick forest or were otherwise incapacitated.

After a minute considering his options, Sten noticed the witch blinking. The witch proved apt at survival then.

Another ten minutes passed before she started to look around. She froze when she spied him. Sten continued to study the walls for the best place to climb, but he kept his awareness on her. Injured animals were the most dangerous.

"Wh-what happened?" Her voice sounded shaky.

"We fell."

"I can see that," she snapped. "I was hoping for some details."

She sat up, cautiously, and pulled her waterskin for a sip.

"The ground fell. We fell with it."

The witch glared at him before pressing a hand to her head.

Why these southerners insisted on cluttering the air with needless speech, he could not understand. Did they lack the ability to see the obvious?

"Do you know what happened to the others?"

"No."

With slow, deliberate movements, the witch got to her feet and looked about. She kept her hand on her head, wincing as she took in their predicament.

"Why do you not heal yourself?"

"What?" Morrigan's face twisted in pain, irritation, and confusion at the question.

"Your head injury. Why do you not heal it?"

She took a longer time to answer than he thought necessary. "My… head."

That thing above your shoulders, yes.

"Can't cast magic… hurt like this."

So, the best way to deal with one of the dreaded things was to bash it on the head. Good to know. That explained why she hadn't turned into a bird and left him here, as was her way whenever danger came.

Giving up on the witch to grasp basic logic, Sten said, "We need to get out of this place. If we can get to the roots, we can cut our way out."

"Tis the start of a plan, I suppose."

"How steady are you?"

"Steady? You don't mean to use me as a ladder, do you?"

"Actually, yes."

The witch laughed, a reaction he didn't expect. It unnerved him. She was wild, untrustworthy, and dangerous as a viper.

"Good luck with that, my large friend."

Using the wall as leverage so as too keep pressure off his injuries, Sten stood. "Here. This is the most scalable. With you balanced on my shoulders, you can cut a hole."

With a thoughtful frown, Morrigan ran a hand over an area of the stone wall that had the strongest incline and a rough crack filled with dry moss. "I… suppose. Indeed, considering the situation, this seems the best course."

After slipping a knife into her belt, Morrigan looked at Sten for direction. Her eyes still had a glazed aspect indicating her injury could still be a danger to her, but time would whittle down their resources and further decrease their chances. Better to start work as soon as possible even in a weakened state.

Sten lowered to one knee and indicated for her to start climbing. With her hands braced on the wall for stability, the witch placed one boot on his thigh. She took three hopping attempts, one which caused her to sway back. She would have fallen if not for Sten's hand on her back to brace her. She held a hand to her head, pain tightening her mouth. He waited, patient, as a moment of confusion caused her to pause in their efforts. She had to stare at his leg, at the wall, at her hand on his shoulder, before she remembered enough to continue.

A fourth attempt, this time with his hand to help push against her lower back, she got to his knee. With one hand on the wall and one on his head, she climbed unsteadily to his shoulders. Sten held her legs firmly, and slowly rose to his feet. He closed his eyes against the strain and pull of injured muscles. The one in his side felt like a sharp stone had been placed under his skin, grating new lacerations with each motion.

When he looked up, his first thought was that he wished the witch would wear more. The leather strips of her skirt hid little at the best of times and from lower down even less. She had a root in hand, started sawing at it with the knife, and that was enough for him. He closed his eyes and meditated. He kept enough awareness on the shifts of her legs to keep her balanced, but otherwise he let his mind go blank.

From time to time, he could tell the witch stopped working as her feet would stop their back and forth shift. After a few minutes of panting, she would continue. Hours passed.

"I need to be higher." The witch's voice slurred with fatigue from her injury and exhaustion from work.

"Hold on to a root." Sten lowered his arms for a second to let the blood flow then clasped her boots and pushed her up.

"Ah! Easy!"

A few bits of twig and earth sprinkled on Sten's face. Given an option, he would not open his eyes until he could be sure the sandy bits were gone. "What do you see?"

"Roots."

A respectable answer, at least. Sten braced his arms against the stone to guard against fatigue. What time passed, he could not say, but he came back to awareness when the witch's feet pressed harder against his hands then lifted off. He brushed the earth from his eyes before opening them carefully. The sunlight no longer touched the earthen ground, only the back of the stone wall. Perhaps two more hours to sunset.

The hole the witch had cut was narrow, enough for her to get through with a few scratches. He saw her wiggle her way through and stand. Would she leave him? He wouldn't be surprised if she did. He wouldn't even be disappointed. The witch had no loyalty or honor.

When black boots left his vision, Sten pondered his ability to scale the wall. While the crack offered hand and foot holds, the climb wouldn't be easy. At least he had passage. With that, he gathered his pack and began preparing his muscles for the painful climb.

A long, gnarled branch wove through a tight section of roots near where the witch had escaped. Sten watched as the witch angled the branch back and forth or rotated it to get it further through. She couldn't help him with her own strength, but this would be adequate if the branch held traction against the roots.

"Is that enough?" Morrigan called.

"I believe so."

"The branch fork is pressed as far as possible against the roots. It should hold."

Sten tossed his pack up to the hole where the witch grabbed it. Bit by bit, he made his way to the lip of the wall, had to yank the roots apart to widen the hole, and saw a red sunset as he emerged.

"Not bad, qunari." The witch smiled at him, a look that chilled rather than enticed. "Perhaps we do not make such a horrid team after all."

While he had escaped the pit, so had the viper.