[Templar trainee and mage, stranded in a far away and dangerous land. This continues the story of Talita da Motta, written by her own hand, as she tells of her first adventure and the mage who shared it with her.]

[The story thus far: Talita's expedition to Ferelden has fallen to a Blight storm and to betrayal; her own commanding officer having thrown her to the sea. They survive the ocean waters only to face armed and angry Dalish as they scavenged the shore for profit. Juca's magic defeated the Dalish soundly, and now they survive only with the aid of the supplies from that victory. After an evening of honest discussion, wherein Juca confesses his unconventional magical training, and Talita her unreasoning anger toward elves and toward herself, for failing to rescue her brothers from the clutches of the Qunari, it is their second morning in Ferelden.].

The Brecilian Forest is no place for a city girl...

Chapter 21: The Want of Fire

The fire hissed and smoldered in the persistent drizzle. I tried to warm myself in the smoky steam, but it was useless. My hair was still wet from the freezing wash I'd given it at first light. What relief I'd found in cleanliness had dissipated with the morning sunlight. I glared up at the grey and cloudy sky.

"What a miserable country!" I growled.

Juca chuckled, walking up from the swiftly-flowing stream. "Bonita! How can you say that when Ferelden has done so much to welcome us, hmm?" he teased.

He was toweling his hair, dressed only in another half blanket tied low and loosely about his waist...

I tore my gaze away from his dark and golden skin and forced myself to glare at the fire instead. "This is going out," I complained. "Do you have any fire magic?"

He hesitated. I stole a glance in his direction but he was shaking out the robes he'd set to airing last night. A corner of the ruins still held ceiling enough to shield a few of our belongings from the rain. The blanket was slipping from his hips!

I hastily looked at the dying fire again.

"No, no fire, bonita," he answered, sliding into his clothing.

I sighed. It was going to be a wet and miserable day.

He came up behind me and slid his arms around my middle. He felt warm against me, despite the cold bath he'd just taken and the drizzle that was now soaking us. "That does not mean we can't make our own warmth…" he whispered against my ear.

I shivered, but guilt stabbed me. "About…about last night.." I began, lamely.

He held me closer a moment longer, kissing my neck. "Something troubles you?" he murmured against my skin.

I felt my face heat with embarrassment. "I…should not have …"

He chuckled, "Fallen prey to my irresistible charms?"

I was blushing.

He led me back to our dry corner, sat me on a pack, and rustled around for a comb to work at my tangled hair. My thoughts unwillingly wandered back to the night before. I'd kissed him, and let my hands wander where they should not have…and he'd returned the favor. Maker! My body still burned in places … had I asked for fire moments ago? His hands had a fire all their own…

When it was nearly too late, I'd stopped us. Remembering, belatedly, my vow. I was a Templar, or training to be, and he was a mage. To take advantage of that was something I could not do.

Yet he'd held me, contented despite this, all night long.

He combed my hair, picking out the tangles from the ends down low on my back, and working his way up.

I tried again. "I started things I should not have."

"Shouldn't have?" he asked.

His fingers were gentle in my hair.

I cleared my throat. "Yes. I'm sorry."

He paused, setting aside the comb and gathering my hair to braid it. "I am not."

"But, I…I mean. It isn't fair to…"

He chuckled. "Should I be sorry that you cannot resist me?"

"Juca!" I protested. But it was true. My cheeks felt hot.

He finished the braid, neatly snug and tight. I handed him the strip of leather to tie it off. He leaned close. "Do not let it trouble you, bonita. I am a patient man."

IOI

The forest smelled of mildew and decomposing things.

I ducked a dripping branch, but not quickly enough, goblets of water slithered down the back of my neck.

Where had the sun gone? I felt like I had not seen it in months.

We'd followed the trail for a few hours until it began to curve in a direction away from Gwaren. Now we were forging southeast, angling for the coast again, hoping to avoid more Dalish, more bears, and the wolves we heard howling in the distance.

We paused, listening.

I adjusted the heavy pack I was wearing and looked over my shoulder at Juca.

He was gazing out into the forest, listening, I knew, with more than his ears.

He frowned. "There are many angry spirits near here, Talita."

I followed his gaze, but could only see dark masses of trees and wet foliage.

He stepped closer and pointed through some underbrush. "We should try to move off that way."

I eyed the thorns on some of the brush, and raised an eyebrow. Was he serious?

He moved that way. Sighing, I slid my sword from its sheath and began to cut.

Ferelden. Land of difficulty!

Slash!

Land of rain and cold damp!

I hacked. Land of murderous elves!

I sliced again into the dense tangle of bramble.

Land of misery!

I raised my sword to cut away the thorns once more, when the tree above me shuddered to life!

"Talita!" Juca warned.

The tree reached for my sword!

Land of living trees? Maker!

I ducked.

Roots stabbed at my feet through my boots.

I fell backwards, hard, onto my arse.

Lovely.

I slithered out of my pack and rolled sideways as the tree moved to smash me.

From behind me, I felt a blast of frigid air blow past me. Ice froze the tree solid.

The tree trembled; it would not be held for long.

Juca grabbed my pack. "Come on!"

I agreed. It wasn't my imagination; there were more trees waking up, looking around for whatever had disturbed them.

For a girl raised in the civilized world, it was a nightmare come to life.

We ran.

"What are those?!" I asked, ducking branches, missing others as they cut against my face.

"I have no idea!" Juca answered.

As we ran, I reached over to snag the heavy pack from him.

More trees were waking, everywhere we approached.

He drew power into himself. Would he try to quiet their spirits?

I felt the tingle of magic, but the trees were still stirring.

"They are too angry!" he explained.

He stumbled.

I yanked him free of the brambles and sliced at the tree that was reaching for him.

"They aren't the only ones!" I yelled. Maker, I'd had enough of this place!

We ran, blindly, until our lungs burned with lack of air.

Still we ran, until the ground disappeared below us, and we tumbled into a ravine. It was a long plunge into black mud, shale rock and cold, biting water.

The world spun. My ankle throbbed and my shoulder felt as it had tried to leap off the rest of my body. I was lying in a stream.

Juca groaned.

I pushed myself up as the icy water flowed over my legs. I saw Juca sit up shakily. He was covered with black mud; a cut on his face was bleeding red into the black.

I began to wonder if we would ever make it back to Rivain alive.

Before I could ask him anything, we heard the unmistakable sound of a sword sliding free of its sheath.

Panicked, I turned to face our latest foe.

And saw the largest man I have ever seen.

He was the size of a small mountain, thickly-muscled, with tangles of long brown hair and a beard that would make dwarven lords green with envy.

His sword was sized for its owner.

Surely we were going to die. I'd dropped my sword somewhere in the tumble.

Juca slowly raised his hands, and smiled, through the mud and blood on his face.

The huge man blinked. He studied us. I heard the strangest sound…

He began to laugh.

He laughed, and pointed to us, and laughed some more.

Juca chuckled.

I frowned. Mud dripped from my forehead.

"Maker!" declared the stranger, as finally his laughter abated and he wiped at a tear. "I needed that."

Please, please review - what worked, what didn't! Always trying to improve!

TY!

They get to Gwaren soon. I promise!