As the last body hit the ground, Nathaniel emerged from the woods, bow slung over his shoulder as he strode up to Cullen. As the Master of the Hunt gave him a short, nonchalant wave, Cullen wiped a bit of blood from his mouth. He'd taken a hit to the face with the pommel of one of the Orlesian's swords, but he hadn't let it slow him down. Now, as the fighting finally died down, he felt a sharp splintering ache in his cheek. He ran his tongue over his teeth to make sure none were broken and then sighed.

These last few weeks had been one surprise after another. Unfortunately, almost all of the surprises had swords and a seeming distinct dislike for Avvar.

They'd stumbled across two more camps—one in the dead of night as they traveled back north, and one in the early morning as they'd chosen to give the Lowlander bastards as small a head start as possible. While they'd cleared the first one, this one was bigger, likely the bulk of the forces leaving the raid.

The arrogance that they'd assumed the Avvar wouldn't retaliate as soon as they were able was… astounding.

Cullen idly counted the number of tents and then glanced at the bodies that were already being gathered to be burned. They didn't care if other Lowlanders saw the smoke. Let them know that they were little more than animals to be hunted.

With a frown, Cullen motioned around them. "There should be more of them."

That was, if the number of tents were any indication. They'd had a few groups of soldiers attack them while they were taking out those already present, but it still seemed like they were missing some.

Nathaniel spat on one of the corpses as he passed it. "I don't know where specifically, but I think I know why they're gone." He paused for effect, as though making Cullen ask him for the information was something he enjoyed greatly. Once Cullen had, he pointed toward the other end of the camp. "There's a tent on the other side of camp with a tear in the back. Found some long, blonde hair off a tree branch, too, with what looked like rope bindings discarded nearby. I'd wager your precious lady Lowlander escaped her captors, and they're all out looking for her."

Cullen arched his brow as he considered it. Katrina had proven to be somewhat of an escape artist.

Still, he worried what would happen if the Orlesians caught her. Hadn't they wanted her dead? Why capture her now?

"Where was this?" He asked, turning to Nathaniel. He noticed the disdainful glower that crossed the hunter's face, but ignored it.

Nathaniel appraised him for a moment before starting through the camp. "This way."

The tent in question had some more rope and what looked like a gag left behind and, true to Nathaniel's word, a hole in the back. Cullen frowned as he inspected it. The tear was clean, neat. How had Katrina gotten ahold of a knife?

It didn't seem like the Orlesians were that inept.

If she was armed... he sighed. She hadn't been very good with a sword, but perhaps she knew more about how to use a shorter blade. He could hope.

His gaze went down to the ground, sweeping across it slowly. There were a great many sets of footprints, and he wasn't sure he could make out and follow Katrina's.

"Your lady's tracks disappear about three yards from the tent. Were it not for the hairs on that branch," Nathaniel pointed it out, "I'd assume she got ahold of a horse. The branch is a bit low for a rider, though, and I don't see any hoof prints."

"So she literally just disappeared?" Cullen asked, looking back at the ground as though he'd see something that a damned Master of the Hunt had missed.

"Dorian said she was blessed by the Gods. Perhaps they're helping her."

Cullen let out a half laugh and headed back to where he'd left Gunvor. "I guess that means we need to find her while they're still protecting her." When Nathaniel didn't immediately follow him, Cullen looked back at him, brow lowered slightly in puzzlement. "Or have you decided you don't need those journals translated anymore?"

Nathaniel started after him finally, glancing at him as he walked past. "If it was up to me, we'd burn the damned things and be done with it."

With a poorly concealed scowl, Cullen hurried to his horse.

It was odd that the Orlesians seemed to have gone hunting for Katrina on foot, leaving their steeds behind, but Cullen considered they'd probably thought she couldn't get far and that it would be easier to catch her if they could sneak up on her or something.

Honestly, Lowlanders did things so backwards.

Though that was actually a pleasant break for the Avvar. Despite not knowing the details, considering that this many Lowlanders had come for the Wolves, Cullen could imagine they were in pretty poor condition at the moment. It was no wonder they were accepting the Lions' help.

The Wolves—or at least Nathaniel—still didn't think that Cullen and his warriors had come back because of a scout. It occurred to Cullen that they probably though the others had come back to cause a distraction while he stole Katrina.

Like he'd stoop to such pitiful tactics…

The Avvar had found the larger camp a little after dawn and took advantage of as much light as possible, spending the rest of the day scouring the woods around it and ending all the Orlesian soldiers they came across.

Nathaniel had said that there had to be about seventy or eighty soldiers in all who had attacked the hold, and they spent a good part of the evening making sure that none of the bastards made it home.

As dusk drew its curtains over the mountains, Cullen and the others returned to the main camp, to see if any of the Lowlander fools had come back and if anyone had found Katrina yet.

When they arrived, Mia and Dorian were waiting for them. Mia was sporting a new scar that was set deeply into her cheek, aligned with the remnants of a gash on her shoulder that made it look like she'd almost been cut down.

As Cullen and Nathaniel approached them, Dorian cast a quick heal, easing the constant ache in Cullen's face and giving him a simple nod, looking a bit disappointed that the two didn't have Katrina trotting after them, complaining about the cold. He said as much when they were within earshot, asking what good was a smitten thane if he couldn't even find his lady?

Cullen ignored the jibe.

When Cullen reached Mia, she nodded to Nathaniel and left him to discuss what was going on with Dorian, leading her brother a ways to the side of the camp and finally turning when they were far enough that they would have some privacy.

Despite having brought him out, Mia seemed hesitant to say anything. She looked up at Cullen and then frowned, her gaze wandering back toward the others in the camp. Cullen followed her gaze, noting that for the first time Wolves and Lions didn't seem to be making a distinction. Instead, they assisted on another with injuries and cleaning up the camp. Some even seemed to be joking with one another.

A common enemy seemed to help mend old wounds.

Cullen was the first to break the silence, pushing past whatever had grown between them this last few years or so, reaching out and hugging his sister. "I'm glad you're safe."

"I don't fall easily," Mia muttered. Then she nudged him away, looking more than a little exhausted, despite trying to conjure up a well-meaning smile. It didn't last long. Her face fell, and she kicked at the ground, creating small divots in the snow and mud. "I…there's a lot I want to say, and not nearly enough time. We aren't going to be able to mend any fences come spring."

Cullen felt unease curl in his gut, though he simply rested his hand on the hilt of the sword hanging from his hip and felt the reassuring feel of it beneath his fingers. "Why not?"

"Our hold is all but gone. It's time for us to move on." Mia looked lonely as she picked at her vest, still avoiding eye contact. "I knew what leaving the Lions would mean, but I always thought we'd be sort of close. A week's ride away." She tried to smile. "I guess I forgot that everything changes."

Cullen reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder. "If you need help—"

"You can volunteer the aid of the Lions, but you'll likely have a mutiny if you try to house us anywhere near your hold." She stepped a little closer. "I wish we had more time to talk about it, but I suppose it doesn't matter now." Even as Cullen tried to object, she shook her head. "Can you take the journals? Just until we can find a new place to call home? The damn things might be cursed, but I don't think the Lowlanders will go so far south as to reach your hold."

"I wouldn't have thought they'd come after yours," Cullen murmured.

Mia gave him a worried look. "I… we didn't think they'd come in such force. That there were so many of them at all… they had to have been heading out here before the raid even started. The nearest Lowlander town is easily a four week ride—and our horses are sturdier than the ones in the Lowlands. They probably took longer to get here."

"You think they planned to take your clan out from the beginning?"

With a shake of her head, Mia took in a deep breath and held it. When she let it out, her breath shook a little, as though she was trying to stay strong. "I don't know. I don't understand any of this anymore…as though I understood it to begin with." She let out a dry, humorless laugh. "It does seem like they'd have attacked us even if we hadn't been there at the raid. Whatever their intention is, the most important thing is to make sure that—when no one comes home to confirm their victory and they send more—there's no one there for them to attack a second time. We aim to be gone as soon as we can finish the sky burials. Those not hunting our attackers are packing everything that wasn't destroyed or tending to the dead."

"Do you want the furs back?" Cullen asked without thinking.

Mia blinked, surprised. "You earned your keep. We're not so destitute that we'd demand another hold's belongings. And we're hardly strong enough to take them back."

"It might help you get further," Cullen pointed out. "Depending on where you go, you could trade it, or just use it."

"And when you go home with nothing to show for your efforts with us?" Mia asked.

That was a good point. Cullen twisted his mouth to one side as he considered it. "I'll say I gave it to you to help you leave faster. People will be glad to see the Wolves go."

Though Mia frowned, she hesitated. "About the journals, though." She shifted her weight, crossing her arms so that she'd stop picking at her shirt. Authority filled her stance as she squelched her fidgeting, planting her feet firmly and squaring her shoulders back. "They'll slow us down, but I'll be damned if we just get rid of them. Blackwall and I…we don't like how much the Lowlanders want to make sure they're destroyed. We would like to make sure they get as little of what they want as possible."

Cullen scratched at the stubble on his chin—it was getting longer again, a testament to the last time he'd bothered to shave—and thought on it a moment. "How many trunks of them were there?"

"Six." Mia hesitated and then added, "They'll probably take two horses to pull a piece. All that paper…it may not feel like much individually, but it's like hauling whatever tree they were made from after you."

"I don't have enough people to haul that home," Cullen replied, frowning. "We sent a few home to explain what was going on. Jim's got a fast horse, though, so it should take him half the time to get back."

"We could hide some," Mia offered. "Then, whether we come back for them, or you do, we'd be the only ones to know where to find them."

"We'll take one trunk," Cullen paused, and then added, "and one trunk of cloth and leathers to placate my clan. I'm not taking the other three. So reclaim it or leave without it. That will be your choice."

"Good," Mia nodded, relieved, the skin around her eyes crinkling at his declaration. "I hope you're not this benevolent with all the clans around you. You'll lose everything."

Cullen scoffed, but didn't say anything, instead simply smiling back at her.

Shifting her weight a little, Mia nodded again. "Those journals though… The Lowlanders tried to burn them, but Dorian had the foresight to ward them, so we didn't lose many." She let out a bitter laugh. "It's about the only thing we didn't lose much of. They burned our stores of food, though I suppose they left us plenty of horse meat to make up for that," as she spoke, her gaze slid toward the Lowlanders' abandoned horses. Her shoulders slumped. "Our buildings are almost all gone..." She trailed off. "It's like the Caverns all over again. Only worse, because this time I'm old enough to know just how much is really gone."

"I'm so sorry," He whispered. They'd been children when the caverns had been lost, and their father had done his best to keep the worst of it from Mia and the others. They hadn't come to understand just what had been lost until much later. At the time they'd just known their mother had died protecting the clan.

Cullen, though…he'd been there. He'd seen everything go wrong. Luckily, the Gods had dulled his memories, and they mostly only resurfaced in nightmares that were mostly forgotten upon waking up.

Mia shrugged a little, glancing past him and back to the Orlesian camp. "And that leads me around to Katrina." She waited until Cullen had shifted a little, inspecting her, dreading what he knew had to be coming. She was going to ask him to take the Lowlander, too. "Your Lowlander can't fight well, but she certainly tries, doesn't she?"

Cullen crossed his arms. "I told you she did. With training, she might be half decent someday."

Though Mia let out a half laugh, she sighed. It seemed to take a great amount of self-control for her to say her next words. "I may have been wrong about her. Blackwall and I tried to locate her when everything fell to Chaos, and we saw her save one of our own, playing the distraction so that the girl could get away. If she was just playing you all against one another, I'd think she wouldn't be quite so altruistic when she thought no one was watching." Mia paused, scratching at her neck. "And she certainly wouldn't have acted like that if she just cared about herself. Your Lowlander is an odd one."

A sudden sense of shame filled Cullen. All this had happened, and he was still so pettily hung up on being able to steal a Lowlander who was entangled in the whole mess.

"We'll take her with the books," Cullen offered, squelching his disappointment behind a neutral expression.

"You assume she's still alive." Mia shook her head. "I was leading her to safety after her attempted heroics, and we got blindsided. They took her down with a shield bash to the back of the head. I don't think… they took her, but I don't know if she was still alive."

"She managed to escape this camp, Mia." With a grin, Cullen motioned toward the tent Katrina had been held in. "They wouldn't have scattered so to search for a corpse."

"Maybe so," Mia admitted, nodding slowly, "but she's injured, and Lowlanders don't do well in this cold, warm as it is." She rolled her eyes a little, glancing down at the mud beneath their feet. It was still cold enough that it would refreeze over night, but that was it. There likely wouldn't be any more snow for the year.

"Hakkon himself relinquished his hold on her already, so I don't think he'll reclaim her now," Cullen said, trying to sound more certain than he was. "And if the Gods are letting her be and watching over her, what chance do some Lowlanders have in bringing her down?"

Mia laughed at that, shaking her head as she started back to the camp. "You really are smitten."

Cullen didn't bother to argue as he followed her back.

He found Cassandra easily and gathered his warriors, explaining what had happened and what he'd promised Mia. Not one of them protested. Instead, Cassandra went to find Nathaniel so that they and a few others could go to where they'd left their trunks and make the trade. After all, it would have been burdensome to try to drag four full trunks of materials after them as they hunted their enemies.

As more of the Wolves showed up with news of other, smaller cells of the Orlesians having been taken care of, Cullen felt his stomach twist. There was still no word of Katrina.

It seemed to be a numbers game for Mia and hers. They were set on making sure that the exact numbers who attacked them were going to be slain, and they were doing a damned good job.

The Lowlanders seemed to have believed that if they split up, it would assure that no matter what, some of them would make it back to report to their superiors. From the orders they'd gathered, there were two intended campsites, though several smaller groups of soldiers had gotten lost during the retreat.

If they'd managed to regroup into the two larger groups, it would have been considerably harder for the Avvar to pick them off—and if Katrina hadn't escaped, the main camp that had gathered successfully would have been a nightmare to take.

The Gods may not have been able to stop the attack, but Hakkon was making sure they got their revenge.

Even so, it was likely that some of the Orlesians would make it beyond their reach.

Cullen hadn't been privy to the conversation, but he'd heard Dorian tell Nathaniel that he'd sent word to other Avvar holds to kill any Orlesian soldiers that made it to their territories on sight. He'd sent the messages via the Gods to other augurs.

The different clans might never come together under a single banner, but they all loathed when Lowlanders tried to extend their reach beyond where it belonged. The mountains were theirs, and sometimes the Orlesians needed a reminder of that, and there wasn't a clan who wasn't happy to make sure they remembered their place at the foot of the slopes.

Cullen was considering finally retiring for the night—he hadn't slept in days, considering his ride back for Katrina and then riding straight through the night to go after her captors—when he felt someone watching him.

The hairs on the back of his neck prickled as though magic itself was thrumming across his skin, and he turned away from the tent that he'd claimed for the night—the Orlesians had unwittingly left the Wolves quite a bit of resources in the way of tents and horses and other little things like rations that would help them move their clan to a safer location. Even if the tents weren't as durable as the Avvar made, they would do well during the warmer months. Once the Shadow Wolves had found a new home, they'd be able to break them down for clothing and other things, too.

It only took Cullen a few seconds to find who was watching him.

There, standing near a tree just outside of the camp, just beyond where the light from the few fires they'd set up could reach, was a young man. His clothes were patchwork at best, and shaggy blonde hair dipped down into his eyes, obscuring most of his face.

When he noticed he had Cullen's attention, he waved him over with a lanky arm.

Cullen should have considered that this was odd, should have thought something off about the way the boy dressed. But instead, he walked across the space without even thinking twice about it. He stopped when he was in front of him, brow furrowed and arms crossed. "Yes?"

"She needs your help."

…-…

Katrina sat huddled under some rocks, trying not to notice how they didn't seem nearly as stable as she would have liked. Someone had told her to stay here, that she would be safe, but she couldn't for the life of her remember who.

Trying to recall brought forth images of a pale blonde boy and amplified the pain in the back of her skull like she couldn't believe.

She was certain she'd been in more pain than this before, but that hardly made her current injury hurt any less.

At least it wasn't a concussion this time.

Someone had assured her of that. The same someone who had told her to stay hidden. the rocks would protect her from the wind and Orlesians alike, though they did little for the cold. As the sun went down, any semblance of warmth fled the encroaching shadows.

Katrina rubbed her hands up and down her arms, cursing in rhythm with the motion—whoever had saved her had cut her hands free. They'd also left her a small, well-made dagger, telling her she wouldn't need it, but it was better to be safe.

She paused in her attempts to keep warm to feel the blade carefully where she'd laid it out across her lap. It was rather nondescript—much like its owner—without any telling signs of where it had been made or who had made it. Katrina vaguely recalled one of her old friends mentioning that one could always find the maker of a blade by searching for a signature piece or little flare of detail that would indicate who had made it. This blade had nothing like that.

She somehow doubted that she wouldn't need the blade.

Though Katrina was used to not catching breaks, this was more than that. Those most despicable Orlesians were after her for something, not that she could fathom what she'd actually done to warrant such a manhunt.

If they'd just been after the notes, why not just kill her? Why capture her when the reason she'd been brought out here was to die for what she'd done to the Comte?

Was this the Comte's men? Even for him, it seemed excessive. Perhaps the thanes had been right about him having powerful allies. Perhaps it was something else altogether. She idly traced the symbol she'd seen on the breastplate of one of the men who had attacked the hold, trying to remember where she'd seen it before.

Because she had. Seen it.

Where she couldn't say exactly—somewhere in Orlais, obviously. Beyond that, she drew a huge blank.

Perhaps if she'd tried to learn more about politics growing up… but how could she have known something like this would happen to her?

Maybe everyone telling her she was going to piss someone off enough to have people come after her someday should have been a hint.

Just a little one.

Which noble houses might have sided with the Comte, though? She tried to remember her lessons, the ones where Amelia had walked away able to recite hundreds of noble houses, while Katrina had forgotten to list her own family half of the time with the dozen or so she could remember at any given day.

Pondering such things never helped much, but she had little else that she could do, stranded in this miserable wood as she was. When she wasn't cursing herself for never paying attention, or attempting to figure out who was actually after her, she'd been trying to assure herself that the trees actually did have individual characteristics and that she wasn't captured in some garish dream. She kept expecting them to bend down and rake their branches through her hair, though she couldn't remember where that notion had come from or why she was certain it had happened before.

To think, none of this would have happened if she'd just accepted that her sister was gone, like her father had told her to.

The mere thought—bitter and cold as she was—left a pit in her stomach.

How could she think that? How could she ever legitimize the idea of letting that horrid bastard get away with what he'd done?

So what if she was uncomfortable now? Like it'd never happened before. Sure, it was cold, but it could be worse. She could be trapped in a sitting room listening to one of the Lords from Starkhaven talk about…anything.

She could remember one evening where one of her father's friend had spent the entire dinner telling them about how his head chef had asked for a bit more coin—an advance, really—so that he could buy his love an engagement ring before she gave up and married some lout her parents wanted her to marry. The man had wanted a proper ring, one that would show his lady love just how much he thought of her, one that would impress her parents enough to give him a chance. The lord was quite proud that he had told the man no, stating that if the man had wanted to buy such an expensive ring, he should have had the foresight to save up or—and he'd said this with absolute delight—been born into a higher ranking family.

Katrina could understand not being able to help a loyal servant for certain reasons—perhaps money was tight—but to reject his request just because?

The way he had gone on and on and on about it had just been…

Katrina had done the Maker's work the next day. She'd gone to the Chantry and mentioned the lord's spending habits to one of the shrewder sisters, also adding that she hadn't seen him at service lately, knowing damned well it would get back to the revered mothers. They were after that lord for his lack of tithes in no time, and soon he had a legitimate reason for not being able to give any of his staff advances.

The next time they'd had him over for dinner, he'd been ranting about the Chantry and how it was bleeding him dry. Katrina had politely suggested that, if it was such a problem, he should have been born with more money. Her father had excused her from the table.

She'd had no supper for a week, but it had been worth it.

Much like this would be.

Things might be bad now, but all she had to do was endure. Put up with a bit of cold, a bit of attempted murder, a bit of monotonous reading, and Amelia would be able to go home.

All of this would be worth that.

A twig snapped not too far from her, and she hunched lower into the muddy snow, struggling to remember a few of the techniques one of her friends had taught her involving daggers forever ago.

More than that, though, she tried to stay calm. This—little noises too close for comfort—had happened a few times already. Each time she was sure the noises were closer and that she would be caught at any second, but each time they disappeared after a little while.

That was why she hadn't stayed with that boy. He could slip past her hunters more easily without her. He'd promised to bring help.

She just needed to stay put, to trust that she would not be found. Everything would be alright. Everything would—

"I see her!"

Katrina hissed a string of curses as she looked up, trying to locate where the voice was coming from.

"Maker damn the plan," a woman's voice replied, loudly. She was nearby. Too close for Katrina's liking. "Just kill the bitch! They can figure out another way to take him down!"

Letting out a low breath, Katrina didn't move. Maybe they were just trying to lure her out.

An arrow thudded into the rock next to her head, bouncing off the stone and cutting her arm.

Apparently the Maker wasn't a fan of optimism.

Bastard.

Katrina bolted, trying to move away from where she thought she'd seen the arrow come from. She clutched the dagger she'd been given in one hand, the leather of her glove groaning from the pressure. Several voices erupted from the woods around her, shouts of surprise, anger, determination.

She tried to weave through the branches and trees, sliding on ice and mud, cursing just about every single thing that came to mind. Damn the Orlesians, politics, the Comte, her father, Orlais in general, the cold, snow, whatever Avvar god was in charge of snow, Thane Cullen Ar Eydis O Lionhold Magicsbane and his gorgeous face and ridiculously long name.

Everything.

If even one of those things was damned decent, this wouldn't be happening now.

Of all of those things, Cullen was the one she kept coming back to. Why couldn't he have stayed with her? Why couldn't he have kept his word? Why did she care so fucking much that he hadn't? Even if she usually was the one disappointing others, she'd still had her share of hopes dashed before, so this shouldn't have been nearly as painful as it was.

Katrina was even worse with directions than she'd realized as she jumped a bush only to stumble right into the line of sight of the damned archer.

Both of them stared at one another in surprise for a moment before Katrina charged him as he fumbled to notch another arrow, slashing blindly. She heard him cry out, felt something wet splash over her arm and through her already damp shirt as the blade met resistance, but kept going. She didn't care about killing her hunters. So long as they were injured enough that they couldn't follow her, that was what mattered.

She kept running.

If she could just get out of reach...

Quite abruptly, the trees tapered off, making the world ahead clearer. The last thing she needed was to run out into the middle of a clearing. Nothing screamed 'hit me' like being the only thing to aim at.

She slowed enough that she'd be able to see out into the area and try to get a sense of what direction she was heading in from the sky. After all, she knew constellations. Sort of. And maybe she could see something that would indicate it led to a road or a hold or somewhere she could go to and hide in until the Orlesians were all eaten by those ever absent damned bears she'd been so afraid of.

Where were they when she needed them to eat people?

Lazy, hibernating assholes.

With her gaze upward and outward, she barely managed to toss herself backwards when the toe of her boot pressed into air instead of grass or snow.

Gripping a nearby tree trunk, she let her gaze drop down.

And down, and down, and down.

This was no clearing. It was a cliff.

Fucking mountains.

She'd barely made it a few yards back into the woods—at an angle of course, as she wasn't stupid enough to run straight back the way she'd come—when the Orlesians caught up. The archer was missing—good—but three others had managed to keep up with her. How many of these bastards were there anyway?

She stood there, unsure what to do. They had swords, all of them, and she wouldn't have Mia and Thane Blackwall—or Cullen—to save her.

She gripped her dagger a bit tighter, though as the first two charged her, they knocked it from her hand easily, and she teetered back a few paces, a long cut running down her right arm.

Katrina took in a shaky breath, stumbling back a few more paces as they advanced.

They'd fanned out enough that no matter which way she ran, she'd be caught by a blade. They were tired, but she doubted they were tired enough to miss at this range. She had no weapon, no way to fight back.

This was it.

There would be no aiding the Avvar and getting back on track to save her sister. There would be no triumphant return, no dragging the Comte de Forseau down into the gutters to make sure he never got back up. There would be no seeing Cullen again, no chance that he hadn't abandoned her after all, no grudging forgiveness to be had.

This was the end. This time there was no way out. She was going to die.

Katrina narrowed her eyes at her captors.

If she had to die, she was going to take as many of the bastards out with her as she could.

And she knew how.

Turning on her heels, she made a run for the cliff.