Cullen sat up with a gasp, feeling a tightness in his chest as sweat dripped from him. The faintest of screams echoed in his ears, remnants of a dream that was already slipping out of focus for him, into a vague, unmemorable haze that so often clouded such nightmares once he'd woken. If only that fog could shake his feelings of unease.

Alas, after years of having such nightmares, he knew that the only thing that would help ease the sickness twisting in his gut would be to get up and meet the day, to show himself that whatever fears played upon his subconscious were idle.

What little he could remember was a twisted body, standing on its own, lumps of flesh in all the wrong places, flesh melted and skin seared.

A fallen God.

He barely thought to tug on his pants before stepping into the cool night air. With a deep breath, he already felt his nerves settling down. It would be a while yet before they'd need to pack up camp, but he doubted he'd be able to go back to sleep.

No one was watching the camp—Cullen felt that should have bothered him, but it didn't—and the world was so quiet. Sleeping. All around, the trees had unfurled their leaves, though it would be a few more weeks before the foliage would be able to blot out the sky. Even so, it lent a fresh, 'new' smell to the air that had him sighing contentedly.

They were back in Red Lion territory, thankfully. In another week, they'd be home. Well, he'd be home. Both of his companions were only drawing further from theirs. If it bothered either of them, they hadn't said anything. Katrina seemed pretty enthusiastic, actually.

She was learning quickly, too. She might not be as skilled as Cullen or Morrigan, but she was picking up on what to do when packing camp. Under their tutelage, she was getting better every day. It took her twice as long to roll a bedroll, but it looked just as neat as Cullen's when it was done.

And Gunvor had finally listened to her without Cullen's assistance last night.

Stretching and leaning into a cool breeze that wound its way around him, Cullen began to walk. He wouldn't go too far, but he was too restless to stay by the fire, especially with both his dreams and thoughts of Katrina vying for attention.

In the last few days, Katrina had started looking at him differently, like she was noticing him more than before.

All of him.

It was warm enough that a shirt was absurd. He'd catch her watching him as he came back into camp after catching something for dinner, her gaze dipping down to appreciate his form. The first time he'd noticed, he'd laughed—he'd been a bit surprised was all, and hadn't meant anything by it.

Katrina had turned bright red and retired into her tent early. It had taken half a day before she'd been able to talk to him again, and he was certain that she was still a little embarrassed.

He did his best to pretend not to notice her attentions after that, though he couldn't help but pay her a bit as well. Her leathers fit her nicely, and she seemed to have adjusted to the cold at least a little. She didn't hug her arms to herself as much, though she did have a tendency to lean into him while they were riding.

He groaned as he realized that his walk had done little to distract him. At one point he could have just enjoyed the night, but now, his thoughts just wandered back to his little Lowlander, and how she would react to everything.

Two nights ago, they'd camped in a small clearing, and she had been awed by the thousands of twinkling stars overhead. He and Morrigan had told her some of their constellations, and she had pointed out two that she'd known. She'd said that they were generally lower in the sky where she was and he wondered how far north she could be from that the sky itself looked different.

They'd camped close to a ridge that would lead them down toward the base of the mountain. From there, they'd just have to cross a shallow river, travel along another slope, and then onto one last mountain to reach home. Even as he wondered if they were close enough to see the hold's fires—likely not—he wandered out to the cliff.

As he drew closer, he paused, noticing a figure already seated near the edge, head inclined to stare up into the starry sky.

Katrina.

Was she not sleeping well, either? If so, she'd never mentioned it.

Cullen walked over and took a seat next to her, smiling when she glanced toward him. Her long hair fell down her back and over her shoulders, looking almost like spun moonlight in the darkness. He resisted the urge to reach out and run his fingers through her hair, instead motioning toward the sky. "Our Lady enthralls you, doesn't she?"

"She is very lovely," Katrina replied, voice a little heavy with sleep. "When I was little, I used to make up my own stories for how the stars got up there. It drove my teachers insane, especially the one trying to teach me how to read the constellations."

"You had a teacher just for the constellations?"

"Well, no. He taught other things, too. Math," she paused, frowning. "He used to take my siblings and me out to stargaze a little ways outside of the city, where the skies were clearer. We'd spend the whole trip out going over little pieces of paper with the dots drawn on them to show which stars were part of what, and then spend all night identifying them as they wandered overhead. I once asked why the stars never sped up, why they were always wandering the same pace every day."

"What did he say?"

"That I shouldn't waste my time on questions I would never have the capacity to understand the answers to."

Cullen frowned. He hadn't understood the entirety of what she'd said, but her tone—and what he could see of her expression—filled in any blanks. Reaching out, he patted her hand. "I'm sorry."

"Pfft," Katrina cackled. "Don't be. I got him back. Taught his girls how to climb out their windows so that they could see the town. He had the worst years of his life trying to rein them in. Even after he forbade it, we still had plenty of adventures. Actually met one of my dearest friends because of them. Their dad was taking my siblings out to stargaze, so we gathered all kinds of folks at his place for a more interesting kind of gathering than those dry dinner parties." She used her hands to help tell her story, her face lighting up. "About halfway through the night, I noticed some guys eyeing me wrong, so I headed home early. They followed. Kidnappers who recognized a noble when they saw one, I think. I tried ducking down a back alley to get away from them just as this elf falls out a window, all tied up. I undid his ties. He helped me fight off the asses chasing me. Then we sat down and had a nice bottle of wine and watched the sun come up over the city from the rooftops."

"Your life is never dull, is it?" Cullen asked, cupping his chin in his hand and resting his elbow against his knee. "Kidnappers, assassins, raids, parties."

"Clarence used to say I was a special kind of blessed."

With a smile, Cullen nodded. "I think I agree with him."

Katrina snorted. "I think I just have bad luck."

"No such thing," Cullen said, sitting up a bit straighter. "Perhaps the Gods just don't know what to do with you."

"Or perhaps they want me to be good and step in and save me whenever my delinquent ways get me in too deep." She shrugged. "Who can say?"

Their conversation winded on, both offering different stories from their childhoods, doing their best to convey the details to one another in whichever language worked better at the time. Cullen had just finished a tale about how he and Branson had nearly gotten themselves killed hunting a gurgut once when Katrina let out a light gasp.

Glancing over at her, he saw that she'd caught sight of the mountain peaks in the distance as the sun was coming up. Streaks of color lit up the sky, with cones of shadow still taking up most of the night, the mountain tops blocking the sun's light. The stars had set, along with one of the moons. The other hung low, half hidden behind another mountain.

They sat there, watching the day begin, the Lady's colors shifting for them, through pinks and oranges to yellows and finally the pale, gentle blue of day. Below, the forest began to glow with that golden light bouncing off bare bark and snow. When it hit some of the more unfurled leaves, their greens were like little emeralds sparkling amidst a wash of diamonds and amber. A river wound through it all, glinting silver.

Cullen turned to watch Katrina as she took it all in, gaze slowly wandering the length of the valley, mouth hanging open slightly. The skin crinkled around his eyes.

Shaking his head, he rose to his feet and lightly touched her shoulder to draw her from her reverie. As she stood up next to him, he paused, pointing west. "Can you see the dip in the…ridge, I think is the word? Over near that stand of green?"

"Where?"

He shifted closer to her, lowering his head so that it was next to hers, the stubble on his cheek just barely brushing against her skin. He brought his arm around her, pointing again. "About halfway down the second mountain's ridge…there."

She paused, breath held as she squinted where he was pointing. After a moment, she whispered, "I think so."

"That's where we're going."

Her attention lingered after he'd straightened up. He noted the rosy hue to her cheeks and wondered if it was because of the 'cold' or because of him. Finally, she turned away, and they wandered back toward camp together.

"You must be excited to be going home."

"I'm already home," he grinned, motioning around them. No need to tell her of the anxiousness that filled him every time he thought of returning to run the hold. "The Red Lions have held this land for almost forty years. We've been blessed to have been able to stay here so long."

"Do Avvar move often?"

"As often as we have to," he shrugged. "The mountains can be giving, but there comes a point where we take too much and have to leave so that the land can recover."

Katrina frowned. "Or Orlesians decide to be assholes."

"There is that," Cullen murmured, his earlier good mood slipping as Katrina grounded him back in reality.

She twisted her fingers together as they walked, gaze down. "Will you have to move like the Wolves did?"

He blinked and then looked down at her, arching his brow as he watched her gaze slowly rise to meet his. She was tense as she waited for an answer, a seeming implied, 'because I brought this on you' tacked onto her sentence.

Without thinking, he stopped in his tracks and turned to face her, reaching out and lightly cupping her chin in his hand. "We will be fine. As will you. I'll keep you safe."

"You say that," Katrina said, her voice faint, "but at the end of the day, your loyalty is to your hold, is it not? How could it be anything else? If you have to, you'll—"

"There's no reason you couldn't be part of my hold," Cullen interrupted. He hadn't been thinking about much of anything, other than he didn't want to see her look so sad. So lonely. His hand shifted, fingers tracing her jawline and brushing against her ear as he cradled her cheek. "If that's something you think you'd want."

The red in her cheeks darkened, spreading to her ears and down her neck as she stared up at him, speechless. He felt heat in his own cheeks as he stared into her hazel eyes, the browns and greens in them like a forest of their own.

She brought her hand up, lightly holding his wrist, but not pulling him away. "I…"

For a moment, all that existed in the world was her. Everything else was muted, waiting on her answer.

He leaned his head forward toward her, searching her face for the answer that seemed caught in her throat and—

"I don't believe this."

Cullen blinked, straightening up and turning to glare in the direction that familiar voice had come from. Morrigan stood a few paces away, arms crossed, brow raised, and a look that spoke volumes to her interest in the possibilities of what had just almost happened before her.

However, she had not been the one to speak. Rather, the voice that had interrupted the moment had been someone he'd known far, far longer.

His younger brother, Branson.

Branson stood at Morrigan's side, bow still slung over his shoulder, expression angry.

Part of Cullen was glad to see his brother—the mere fact that he was there meant that the hold was in good enough condition that the Master of the Hunt had felt it safe enough to venture forth. He'd been away too long, and it was good to know that his brother was healthy and well, strong and unscathed.

That part lost out to the part that was incredibly angry that Branson had the ability to speak. His brow lowered as he glared at Branson. "What?"

Even as he spoke, Katrina slipped out of his hand, her fingers trailing over his skin as she let him go. He snapped his gaze back toward her, though she was already moving past him, her cheeks still a brilliant red. "I should help pack up camp," she mumbled under her breath.

As she passed Morrigan, the Wolf turned in time with her, heading back to their campsite.

As they disappeared into the trees, Branson paced forward, arms crossed, scowl in place. "Do you remember all your reservations with being thane? All those little things that you don't like having to do, but you do them because it's for the good of the hold?" Even as Cullen's gaze slid toward his brother, Branson pointed at himself. "I'm not supposed to have to do any of that! If you don't want to do the damned job, find someone to replace you! Don't shirk everything off on me!"

"Shirk everything off? Everything I do is for the hold!" Cullen snapped back, voice lowering.

"Like disappearing for two months?"

"Raids have lasted longer."

Branson shook his head, still seething. "But you weren't gone for a raid the whole time, were you? No. You were off dragging our clan into some mess with the Lowlands!"

"There are Lowlands nobles who have been manipulating dozens of clans, Bran. This is much more complicated than we could have—"

"They mess with clans near them, Cullen," Branson snapped. He pointed over his shoulder in the direction of their hold. "We don't live near them! It shouldn't be our problem!"

Shaking his head, Cullen pointed back north, stepping closer to his brother and willing himself not to shout. "And when they take out all the clans near them and declare their land as part of the Lowlands? When they creep up the slopes until they're our neighbors? Then will it be our problem?"

"We won't make the same mistakes the other clans did."

"And what mistakes did the White Feather Hawks make? What mistakes did the Grey Bears make?" Cullen narrowed his eyes. "Admit it, if this had been the Stone-bears or any clan other than the Shadow Wolves, you wouldn't care nearly as much."

Though Branson readied to argue, he snapped his mouth shut at that accusation, shaking his head slowly. For a moment, Cullen thought the argument over, though even as he turned to head back to camp, Branson finally found his voice again. "First Mia, now you. What did they do to you that you can treat them like they don't deserve whatever the Lowlanders do to them?"

"They didn't deserve to have their hold razed," Cullen snapped.

"I think they did," Branson retorted. He set his jaw, an anger burning in his eyes like Korth himself had fueled his rage. "Did you forget the Veilfire Caverns? How they took one of our most holy places—a place the clans shared—and desecrated it? How they killed our mother?"

"Of course I didn't forget!" Cullen cried out, any semblance of keeping his temper in check gone. He gripped Branson by the arm, shaking him slightly. "I was there when it happened! Of course I remember it!"

His brother didn't respond, instead staring up at him, wide eyed and still, jaw tense, body rigid.

Cullen let go of him, reaching up and running his fingers through his hair. "Mia said it's not what we think… and I don't think it's as one sided as we were led to believe…I'm going to talk to the elders when I get back." When Branson didn't respond, Cullen took in a slow breath and let it out, eyeing him. "I didn't hurt you, did I?"

Branson scoffed. "No." He shifted his weight, standing a bit prouder. "It's just sickening to see you cuddling up to a Wolf out here in the middle of nowhere."

At that, Cullen hesitated, glancing toward the camp and then back at his brother. "I… Cassandra and the others didn't tell you? Katrina isn't a Wolf; she's a Lowlander."

…-…

Things were complicated. Horribly so.

Katrina was supposed to be saving her sister. She was supposed to be thwarting evil Orlesian nobles and saving the Avvar from their cruel manipulations.

And it felt like she wasn't doing anything relevant to that at all.

It made sense for her to learn the Avvar's language. She could better communicate her revelations and the like if she could speak with them quickly, and learning languages had always been something she'd enjoyed.

However, she was enjoying something else a bit too much, as well. Something most distracting.

Or rather, someone.

Her dear thane, Cullen. The man was kind to her, treated her like an equal. The more she was around him, the more she wanted to stay around him. It was a sensation she'd never felt before, a longing, a loneliness when she was with him, wondering if he cared about her at all, or if he'd just been acting in accordance with some Avvar code of honor.

She kept telling herself that she shouldn't be so concerned with him, but she couldn't help it. He was so…

It didn't help that she'd accidentally seen more of him than she'd meant to.

On the seventh or eighth day they'd been traveling—the days sort of ran together out here, in the never ending forest—they'd finally stopped by a stream to freshen up a bit.

Thank the Maker. Or…whoever.

Prior to the stream, they'd been using a bit of their water, but…it wasn't the same as actually being able to bathe.

Cullen had let the ladies go first, warning Katrina to be quick, as it was still chilly, and he didn't want her to catch a cold. Chilly…she was from the north. This was still horribly frigid. Granted, it was no longer 'freezing', and they came across more and more patches of grasses popping up with unnatural resilience through the ever diminishing snow.

Still.

While it had been cold out, it had also been worth it to scrub some of the grime off and to wash her hair.

She and Morrigan had let him know when they were done, and he'd headed down to the stream. He'd been gone barely a minute when Katrina realized she'd dropped one of her gloves and went back to retrieve it. Her timing had been such that as she came into view of the stream, she'd seen him with his back to her as he kicked off his pants, showing off muscles that moved so perfectly beneath his skin, the light bouncing off his well-shaped form and making him look…

She'd left her glove.

Even now, she could feel Gunvor judging her every time the beast looked her way. It'd seen her go back and then come back, without the missing item. It knew.

Morrigan likely knew, as well, but she had the good graces to not care. It was a small relief. Katrina had tried to talk to Morrigan about Cullen once, and the woman's response had been something along the lines of, "Please do not mistake me for some dawdling fool of a lady who wishes to waste her time prattling on about feelings and such nonsense."

At least she spoke the common tongue quite well—that was likely why she'd been sent with them.

Cullen had come back from the stream with her missing glove in hand, offering it to her with some comment about how she needed to be more careful. She'd pretended she'd been looking around the camp for it. Gunvor had neighed—traitor—and Cullen had given the both of them the oddest look, though that may have been because she was glaring at the horse herself.

Ever since, she hadn't been able to get that image out of her mind—it had been a very pleasant one, after all—and suddenly she was noticing just how good he looked shirtless. Before, looking at him had made her freeze, her mind going to how cold he must be, even if he did insist Avvar didn't get cold easily.

Now, though… The thought of him half-dressed, muscles rippling in the sunlight, sweat glistening on his skin… It certainly wasn't ice running through her veins any longer.

Now she was actually rather content that he found this weather so comfortable.

She might have been able to get over it, given enough time, save for one small problem.

Cullen had noticed. She wasn't sure if he knew she'd seen him naked, but he knew something had happened. He'd laughed once, and she'd been so sure he'd figured it all out—maybe that stupid horse conveyed it to him somehow—that she'd panicked and hidden for the rest of the night.

Riding with him the next day, she'd wanted to die. Well, not literally.

This had easily been one of the most awkward moments of her life. Prior to this, she'd always assumed her mother was right in her constant grousing that Katrina was completely incapable of shame. The only way it could have been worse would have been if Morrigan had been invested in what was going on. Fortunately, her apathy reigned supreme, and she rarely bothering to even address them unless it was absolutely necessary.

Cullen had been the driving force to get them past that awkwardness. He'd simply pretended it wasn't there, picking up with their language lessons and acting as though whatever it was between them wasn't changing with each day, shifting into something Katrina either couldn't understand or was too afraid to.

He'd told her about the pieces of Avvar culture he thought she would need to know before they arrived at his hold. He'd explained the Gods the second day, though she wasn't sure how much she'd been able to really take in.

He'd also told her about his hold-beast, Asmund. Apparently the creature was a lion that lived with people and didn't eat them, but wasn't a pet. He'd explained that she would have to meet the hold-beast eventually, though that wouldn't be for a while. He promised to ease her into his culture as best he could.

Cullen had also told her about the different people of the hold she would be dealing with the most. She'd already met Cassandra, the chief warrior and Arena Master. Aside from her, there was Branson, his younger brother and Master of the Hunt; Galyan, the augur; and a few others, including Rosalie, Cullen's youngest sister.

When Katrina had asked what he would do if Rosalie had been spirited off while he was away, he'd simply frowned and told her that the elders of the hold wouldn't let that happen, and neither would Rosalie.

He'd been quite confident in his younger sister's ability to defend herself, a quiet pride swelling his chest and making him quite handsome.

However, ever since that seventh—or eighth—day, every time she glanced up at him as he started to talk about different things, like offerings to Gods or festivals or…anything, really, she was reminded of the way his body had moved as he'd slipped out of his clothes, and then she would be looking out over the landscape around them, hoping to whatever it was that was out there that he'd assume the flush on her cheeks was from the cold.

She'd yet to find some tragic flaw that made him anything less than charming, and she couldn't help but think that if she'd met him in Starkhaven, she'd have been smitten at a glance. Though…if she'd met him in Starkhaven, his family likely would have already been warned that she was trouble, and he wouldn't have given her so much as a glance, instead talking with Gregory about politics while she and Michael plotted his family's demise in the corner over teacakes.

How she missed those two…

Michael would have had Cullen figured out by the end of day one. He was good like that, always able to tell people's weaknesses and strengths, flaws and perfections. Katrina just had a tendency to run around with blind faith that things would work out…or she had.

Before the Comte.

Truly, a few months prior, she'd have likely been flirting with her dear thane, asking him all sorts of inappropriate questions, and making just enough of a fool of herself that her mother would cry for a week.

That was always how her stories ended, with dear mother in tears as she wondered where she'd gone wrong.

But…things were different now.

Katrina fidgeted as she glanced over toward Cullen's tent and then to Morrigan, who was tying the last of her things to her steed. "Should we pack up his tent while he's talking with his…that had to be his brother, yes? They look so alike."

"I do not know, nor do I care," Morrigan replied, giving the string one last tug. "However, I will not be laying a finger on his belongings, lest someone cries foul."

Furrowing her brow, Katrina glanced around. "You think he'd be mad at you for helping?"

"Ah, yes, you could not understand the harsh words, so you wouldn't know." Morrigan drew in a weary breath, eyes rolling. "Throughout the mountains, there are…places. They are old and powerful, with magic buried deep in the earth. Fonts, if you will, of the arcane."

Katrina shifted a little. Magic was so rarely seen in Starkhaven, the same with mages. While she understood that there were mages among the Avvar—that Dorian had been one of them, even—she still wasn't sure about how she felt about that. The Chant said that magic was dangerous, the Chantry said it should never be allowed to be free.

The Avvar didn't seem to have all the problems that supposedly went with magic, though.

It was one more thing that made her wonder about her Maker and all the stories she'd been raised on.

Morrigan kept talking, oblivious or uncaring to the discomfort of her audience. "Such places are holy. They draw the Gods to them, and it is a place where even those without magic may go to converse with the Gods." She paused, adding, "Not that the Gods will just speak with anyone, of course. Tis simply a place where such things are possible. To live near such a holy site is considered a great boon, and if more than one clan is near, it must be shared. Such places cannot be claimed."

Katrina nodded slowly, hugging her arms to herself as the wind gusted past them, rattling the branches overhead.

"We once had such a place," Morrigan continued. "The Veilfire Caverns."

"Once?" Katrina echoed.

"I…" Morrigan glanced in the direction where they'd left Cullen and his brother. Abruptly she motioned for Katrina to step closer and dropped her voice. "I was always told that the Lions were the ones to do the unthinkable. They decided that they didn't want any other clan to be able to speak with the Gods so freely, and they attacked the Caverns, slaughtering all those inside, eliciting a riot from the Gods themselves as they were corrupted by the heinous act."

Morrigan's brow knit together, a pained look settling over her features for just a second. "The Gods were tainted, and we lost our boon." Her apathy returned as she shrugged. "It has left bad blood between the clans."

Taking a moment to absorb the information, Katrina reached out to Morrigan when she seemed ready to mount up. "You said you'd heard that? Were they yelling about the Caverns?"

"According to your thane and his clansman, it was my clan who instigated the mess."

"Could it have been a third clan?" Katrina asked, shifting her weight a little.

"Why would they?"

"To pit you against one another, to—" Katrina stopped, suddenly feeling a knot twist in her stomach. Granted, she didn't know much about the Avvar in general, but she did know enough about nobles to know that what she was suggested sounding alarmingly…Orlesian.

Morrigan seemed to follow her thoughts without her ever having to voice them. "Perhaps we will find something about it in the journals."

"Perhaps," Katrina murmured.

Before she could say anything else, Cullen swept into camp, frown in place as he moved to his tent and began breaking it down quickly. Katrina darted over to him, asking if there was anything she could help with. He lightly caught her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze before releasing her. "We're going to be riding harder today. Do you think you'll be able?"

Katrina nodded.

Even as she started to point out he hadn't answered her question, his brother strode up, breezing past her and going to Gunvor, saddling the steed quicker than she could have and preparing it for the day's ride. His own horse stood near the others, and Katrina felt like a fool for not having noticed the beast before.

After doing her best to stay out of the way and feeling quite useless, camp was packed up. Cullen swung up into his saddle and then offered her his hand, pulling her up so that she could settle behind him on his mount, arms wrapped around his well-toned body.

"Let me know if you need to rest." His hand brushed over hers briefly before he gathered his reins, leaned forward in his saddle, and set the pace, the other horses galloping to keep up.

Katrina prayed the ride would be a smooth one.