2/2 for today. Enjoy!
Shine
Morrigan
She watches their leader, sees the way her eyes flit to every tree and flower they pass, the way they follow every small animal that crosses their path; the woman is not estimating danger, she realises eventually, but simply watching. She notices Morgana mostly avoiding branches that block them rather than simply removing them, and something else occurs to her. She remembers the mage's reaction to rain, sees the same light in the woman's eyes as she speeds slightly to walk next to her. She ignores Alistair's scowl at the woman's other side. Morgana tries to hide it, but it shines through, a wonder as pure as a child's. The memory of a mirror, long ago, treasured in her stupidity, comes to mind, and she quashes it, quickly and forcefully.
'Tis foolish, this reverence toward nature; it would certainly not afford her the same mercy and courtesy. Her mother has taught her this, time and time again.
Then she remembers that the woman has been raised within stone walls, and this is probably her first true taste of nature; of course she will not be as comfortable here as she is. Pity, unexpected and uncomfortable, creeps its way into her chest, and she looks away in an attempt to rid herself of it.
Names flicker through her head and disappear, an involuntary reaction, as she recognises the plants around them. She notices Morgana's eye drawn to a flower, one with blue and purple petals that she remembers from her childhood. "Peacock's feather," she says, before she can stop herself, and Morgana looks to her in surprise. "Much is the same here as the Wilds, except for the marshland."
"And that?" Morgana nods to bright orange flowers crawling up a tree ahead of them.
"Firestar. It makes an excellent poison, if I remember rightly. Did they teach you none of this at your Tower?" The exasperation in her voice is unintentional.
Morgana shakes her head, replying shortly, "What's the point of learning about flowers you'll never see or smell? Any herbs we had were brought in by templars or the odd permitted mage."
The pity returns, sudden and unwanted. "I... I see."
Morgana notices the waver, and mutters, "Sorry. It just... wasn't the best place to grow up."
Her mother has told her of such things, but... "Grow up?"
"Templars took me when I was four." She notices the mage's hands twitch in her discomfort, sees the way her eyes settle straight ahead of them and her shoulders tense; unfortunately, Alistair also seems to, chipping in from her right, "Have you said something to her?"
She is ready with an appropriately scathing reply, but Morgana shakes her head. "Not her fault. Honestly." He opens his mouth, and his fellow Warden interrupts, "Don't." He closes it, frowns at her, and returns his eyes to the path ahead of them, seeming embarrassed.
Morrigan tries to contain her surprise at the sudden defence, and, as Morgana's eyes stray to a flash of white in the green around them, she murmurs, "Andraste's Grace."
Morgana looks to her and, after a moment, smiles.