F is for Flying
She couldn't believe it. They were going to risk their lives and her freedom to save that harpy of a woman and her abomination of a son. It was absolutely ridiculous. There was a solution to it all, and they wanted to play the good guys. She wasn't going to do it. She was not going to go near the Circle. She had to get away, at least for a little while. She stood up and left the group to their plans. She was going flying.
In one seamless move she went from her human, earthbound self to a bird, a creature of pure air. She labored at first; beating her wings to rise above the trees but it was worth it. Once she was clear; above the people, above the trees, above everything, it was as if the world belonged to her. Much better. Much cooler. Much quieter.
She couldn't see the camp anymore. The sky was empty, and below her the mountains and cliffs grew small. No people as far as the eye could see and as a bird she could see very well indeed. She was feeling better now, she had left frustration far behind to be replaced by the sheer exhilartion and joy of flight. She rode the thermals, barely moving a wing as she glided above Redcliff. In the distance she could see the lake, a sparkling gem of brilliant blue. It was a shame the far end of Calenhad held a prision for her kind. No, that direction was mistake. She banked sharply to the left, and exaulted in the burst of speed. Below, the landscape spread out like an oil painting.
They would never know. Never know what it was like to see the world from above; to see it in all it's glory. They could never know what it feels like to be cradled by the wind, to play among the clouds. They would never be able to see how small they actually were. It was almost sad.
She'd been gone long enough. Not that anyone would have missed her, but she had a task to accomplish and it couldn't be done as a bird. She didn't want to go back; didn't want to go back to the heaviness and the ground and the people. She spied the camp, and her traveling companions; they hadn't moved. Fools. Blind, senseless fools. She circled lower and lower, and the group came into focus; the Dalish elf, the idiot Warden, the insane girl, and the stoic qunari.
And then there was the new one; the golem. If her brain was still working correctly, the creature had an unhealthy fear of flying things. Perhaps the ground could wait; it wouldn't hurt to amuse herself a little longer.
Oh, how she loved being a bird.
A/N: So this short was inspired by a drabble called Solitude by Suilven; A fantastic writer who has a project going where she write a 100 word drabble every day of the year. It's called A Year of Dragon Age .net/s/7718871/1/A_Year_of_Dragon_Age . It's pretty brilliant, and an ambitious project, I encourage everyone to check it out.