The forest looms. The trees, Talvinder can't help but think, are oddly reminiscent of the great towering structures of Ostagar: ancient and impossible and yet still standing. But they are more powerful by far. There is something here that the Tevinter ruins only ever brushed up against. Something they sought and failed to emulate.

Perhaps it is the magic Morrigan mentioned. Perhaps it is the way the trees themselves seem almost made of stone. Perhaps it is the way that, if Tali did not know otherwise, she would assume there is no Blight, that there has never been a Blight, with the way the canopies of leaves flutter jewel-green in the sunshine, the grass rich and healthy at her feet, the brush flowering and twining and growing. Where the landscape around them has been ravaged to varying degrees, the Brecilian Forest stands resolute.

"We're going in there?" Alistair's trepidation is obvious; Talvinder shares it, though she tries not to show it when she looks over toward Savreen. Though it's bright out—nearly midday—the sunlight barely penetrates between the trees. She can see the forest fading into darkness only a handful of paces in. How are they ever to keep track of their way within it? And then there's the prickling feeling, like they don't belong, like they ought just to leave the forest to its devices, to let it stand against the Blight and any more Blights that may come over the next hundred ages. Tali swallows, hard.

"If we want an alliance with the Brecilian Dalish, then yes." Determination fills Savreen's voice, but behind it is no small amount of caution, dislike, and maybe even a healthy dose of fear.

"Perhaps we could just turn around and head for Orzammar now, hmm?" The joke in Alistair's question falls flat, mostly because it isn't entirely a joke.

"If only," Ranjit mutters. He is just as unhappy as Alistair and Talvinder both, but he remains mostly quiet, his eyes intently focused on the forest, watching for any hint of movement.

"Then what are we waiting for?" It is Zevran who steps forward first, beckoning to the others to follow him. "Blights do not defeat themselves, or so I am told."

Unease hangs heavy over them all as they step into the forest. The sudden shift to shadow from sunlight feels like a curtain of cold falling onto Tali's shoulders, and she shivers, icy sweat wicking into her clothes.

"There is a path." She sees Leliana's hand pointing before she realizes that the Chantry sister has spoken—there's something almost dazing about the muffled noise of the ancient trees around them, something that makes it hard to concentrate. "Should we follow it?"

Without a single person among their group agreeing, they each begin to walk, following the faint track within the underbrush and leaf litter. Ferns, little wood flowers, lush groundcover, they all tickle at Tali's legs as she follows Alistair. Everything is green, so green, and the leaves make everything sound so close and soft. Without the sun to tell by, she has no idea how long has passed before she realizes that the prickling feeling on her neck is of something watching her, watching them all.

They stop when Ranjit calls for water. It seems maybe a touch darker—is it possible that evening is approaching? Tali isn't sure, nor is anyone else for that matter.

"Morrigan, supposing what you said about the paths is true," Savreen's voice is quiet and thoughtful, but its weight stops them all wherever they stand or sit. "Will we be able to find our way back out of the forest again when this is all done?" Tali looks over to Morrigan just in time to see the witch purse her lips. She says nothing. Alistair groans. Tali would be lying if she were to say that she were not afraid, not unnerved or anxious. The realization that their way out will be harder to find is not a happy one, by any means. The forest seems more forbidding than ever before, the dim light suddenly sickly and cruel. But no, that is only her imagination. It must be, because she does not want to accept that they are stuck—because that is what they are—in a forest that wants them gone.

"I do not think it shall come to that," Morrigan finally says. "The Dalish know these woods. They will know how to leave them."

They follow the paths for an uncountable set of hours after that. It is when they finally stop in a small clearing to set up camp that Tali has an explanation for the prickling feeling that haunts her, that ghosts the nape of her neck with every step.

They are being followed.

Savreen wishes that someone would have spoken up more resolutely about not going into the forest. She wishes that someone would have challenged her, really challenged her. Instead, she is left keeping watch in the middle of an ancient wood in the near pitch dark, swatting at bugs and trying not to let her heartbeat run rampant in her chest. Morrigan's enchanted light burns purple in front of her, casting a dim glow over the sleeping forms of her companions. None of them have set their tents—the ground is too knotted and gnarled for that. Instead, they sleep curled within hollows and wrapped in the blankets of their bedrolls against the chill. They sleep, and Savreen is left alone, counting down the seconds until she can wake Tali and call her to take the second watch.

That is how she first sees the wolf.

It flits through the edge of her vision, white fur ghostly against the mesh of tree trunks that fade into oblivion, repeated over and over almost endlessly. At first, Savreen thinks she is falling asleep, dreaming even as she sits there. She rubs her eyes and tries to focus, tries to see into the dark. Beside her, Sher startles into alertness, raising his heavy square head. Perhaps she isn't falling asleep, then.

Savreen reaches out to pet Sher, to calm him. His ears twitch, swiveling forward, sharp and upright. And then he growls, soft and quiet but a growl nonetheless. It makes Savreen's hair stand on end. As she looks back to the trees, she sees the white shape once more. She can make out now that it is indeed a wolf, its fur stark white, its form sleek and dangerous. She sits, barely breathing, waiting and watching, waiting for the wolf to come back, watching for its pack. But it doesn't come any closer. She thinks it pauses, watching her, too, but then the white of its fur fades, and it's gone. Sher growls once again, but it sounds more disgruntled than anything else as he props his head on top of his paws and lies back down. Soon, he is asleep again. Savreen, though, is far from tired. She doesn't want to close her eyes, doesn't even want to blink.

Exhaustion gets the better of her before too long, though. Heart clamoring in her chest, she goes to wake Tali. Her cousin rises slowly, groaning as she does.

"Already?"

"There is a wolf in the woods." That is all Tali needs and she, too, is awake, alert. She sits upright, blinking rapidly.

"It must have a pack—have you seen—"

"Just the one. Wake everyone if you even think you see it closing in."

The changing of the watch is swift, too swift, and Savreen is left bundled up in her own blanket, curled up against Sher, far before she is ready to accept that Tali is awake enough to protect the camp. It's a foolish thought, of course. All Tali need do is yell, and everyone will rouse. Savreen's swords are just by her side, after all. But still, she is unsettled. She is afraid.

When she does fall into a fitful sleep, the wolf stalks her from the woods even within her dreaming mind.

It might be morning, but it could just as easily be before dawn when Alistair wakes everyone. A joke about his early rising is on the very tip of Tali's tongue until she sees the tension in his shoulders, the way he looks back and forth through the trees as though seeking something.

"The wolf—" Alistair starts, but Savreen interrupts him. Her voice is similarly tense, taut and careful, like an Orlesian cirque performer atop a high wire.

"It circled camp the entire night, then." Alistair nods, eyes still searching the trees as he answers.

"So it would seem." Tali watches as Sav bites back a frown before she speaks again.

"We need to move more quickly. Morrigan, would you lead the way?" Confusion flashes across Morrigan's face where she sits, packing her bedroll away and chewing on a hunk of bread.

"Why?"

"You know more about the Brecilian Forest than anyone else here. We are walking blind as long as I lead us." For a moment, Morrigan thinks about it. She ties her pack and, in one fluid motion, pulls it onto her shoulders and stands. The leather strips of her skirt sway around her calves.

"Very well."

The instant they leave the small clearing, moving on their way again, Tali is aware once more of the feeling of being watched. It's stronger than before, more like an itch, a physical sensation. It even affects Abarie, who walks more slowly beside her, alert, head swiveling this way and that at any and every noise, no matter how small. She isn't sure if she invents the sight out of fear or paranoia, but she's sure that she can see the shape of a wolf, pure white, every so often through the trees. Only once she catches a glimpse of it standing still, atop a fallen tree, does she know that it truly is following them. If she weren't so unsettled, she might think it beautiful: a large, pure white thing, eyes a startling, glowing green, a collar of vines around its neck.

But they are alone in the forest, stranded, and the wolf is following them. Beauty is not a concern at this moment.

Following behind Morrigan, Savreen keeps a sharp eye on the trees around them all. There's a set of ruins in the distance that gradually grows closer, the path winding its way around tree trunks until she can see that the ruins are Elven in nature. Or at least that's what she thinks they are: they clearly aren't Fereldan, nor are they of the heavy sharp style of Tevinter, and logic would dictate that, given this forest is an ancestral Elven home, they also are Elven. Arches, doors to nowhere punctuate the crumbling stone walls. Here and there those walls are set with dimly glittering stones of many colors, but most the mosaics are too damaged by time to tell what it is they depict, and the remaining ones are hidden within the walls.

If this were any other situation, Savreen would love to step off the path and take the time to explore those ruins. She knows, however, that there are more important matters at hand. And besides, what would the ruins tell her? No, it is better that they keep walking, following the path as it veers straight to the left of the ruins and back into the depths of the forest.

Before long, though, Savreen spies another set of ruins, shadowed and dark within the recesses of the trees ahead. Perhaps they're coming closer to wherever it is the Dalish set their camp, she thinks, since this is the second set of ruins. It buoys the depleted hope in her chest and she starts to walk a little faster, her paces a little longer. Ranjit does the same, likely thinking the same, too. Savreen catches his eye with a smile, one that he returns, almost as though to say this aimless wandering will end soon, don't worry.

They pass the ruins before long, all of them reinvigorated by the thought of finding the Dalish, of no longer wandering aimlessly. Savreen hasn't seen the wolf for a time, even if she does feel its eyes on her in every shadow, even if she hears its footfalls in each rustle in the underbrush. Sher has thankfully remained silent, though, giving no growls or indications of danger. It's not just Sher, though. No one speaks; it would appear they are all too busy thinking about what it is they'll do once they leave the forest. Savreen, for one, would like to find a place to bathe, if only for the purpose of lying out in the sunshine after. They've not been in the forest for more than a full day, but she misses the sunshine fiercely. Occasional flickers of light fall through the thick canopy of leaves to the forest floor, shining like coins dropped to the floor, but they never last more than a brief second, and they aren't nearly enough to fight the chill of shadow that lingers on Savreen's skin.

When they pass the third set of ruins, Morrigan slows slightly, head craning toward the ancient rubble. She says nothing, and she only slows for a few moments before leading them forward once more. If it were less quiet, less somber, Savreen might ask her what it is she sees, but it feels as though there's some sort of seal of silence laid over all of them. She doesn't want to break it, not in this atmosphere. So she holds her tongue, thinking about the feeling of sun on skin, a blessed breeze to fight off the stagnant air within this forest.

The fourth set of ruins, however, brings Morrigan to a full stop. The witch stares at them, going so far as to step off the path and toward them.

"Morrigan? Is that the way for—" Moving to follow her, Savreen is surprised when Morrigan swears and throws her staff down to the ground with a clatter. "What's wrong?" Alarm flares up Savreen's limbs, raising her hair and peaking her skin to gooseflesh. Hurriedly, she unsheathes one of her swords, not wanting to be caught unawares. She gazes into the woods, wondering if the wolf is nearby. "What is it, Morrigan?"

"That." With a perfunctory and exceedingly frustrated gesture, Morrigan indicates a broken mosaic, looking out at them from an as-yet standing portion of wall on the inner side of the ruins. It's one Savreen hasn't seen, though she truthfully hasn't been looking that hard. The image depicted seems to be one of an elf with long auburn hair, gazing out at them beneath sharp brows with eyes made of grayish blue stones.

"I don't understand—is it an omen? A warning? What—"

"'Tis the same mosaic that has been on the wall of each of the ruins we have passed this far." Savreen's stomach sinks.

"They…the different ruins have the same mosaics? All four of them?" Tali asks, and her voice is hopeful, but Savreen knows that she knows that's not the case. Angrily, Morrigan shakes her head.

"There has been but one ruin, this entire time. We are going in circles."

We are going in circles. It rings in Tali's ears, and suddenly, somehow, the forest begins pressing in on her. The trees are walls, bearing down, the air between them shrinking and stealing away. She needs to sit down. She hasn't thought about food or water until this point—they were supposed to be able to find the Dalish, to find them and leave—but now she can't stop thinking about it. The water will go first, and then they'll be left in the forest, wandering in circles. How long until the food runs out? How long until they starve?

The ground is hard on her backside, and the force of her collision with it takes the air from her lungs for a moment. Abarie cocks her head, staring at Tali and apparently unsure what to do, despite the specter of concern in her eyes. There's a shrilling noise; she thinks Leliana has begun to argue with Morrigan, or perhaps the Dalish are nearby and one of them has left a kettle on a fire. It's an outlandish thought, and it makes Tali giggle, but that giggle is uncontrollable, and it blossoms into a heavy panting sensation. Her chest is tight, too tight, and the trees are so close.

"Talvinder?" Alistair's voice is concerned. Of course he's concerned, we're trapped forever in this forest. "Are you alright?" How could I be alright? We're going to die here, and the vines will pull us limb from limb, and the wolf will feast on us, and the bugs— "Do you need some water?" He rests a hand on her shoulder, and that's when she notices that he's crouched fully in front of her. Her own breathing still rings in her head, mostly drowning out the rather spirited discussion happening between all the other members of their party, but not silencing them quite enough. As she looks around, wide-eyed, she can feel Alistair's hand like an anchor. Nothing has changed, the trees are all exactly where they were when she fell. Abarie is still sitting, watching her. The air is the same weight, even if her chest is tight, and she can breathe it into her lungs, even through the stitch in her side that constricts her motion.

"I—I'm sorry," is all she can say. Her hands are shaky, and she fumbles with her waterskin. The buckles are impossible to undo, and Alistair must see this, because he takes his own and hands it to her. His fingers linger on hers, steadying them as she brings the waterskin to her mouth. They linger long after her fingers have stopped shaking. "You must think me incredibly foolish," she says at last. Morrigan has begun to raise her voice, and it makes Tali flinch.

"Not at all. I'm surprised it happened to you before me, honestly. This forest is…it's old, old as the Maker's balls, that's for sure, but there's something that feels off about it. Something that feels rotten." He shivers, shaking his head rapidly as though trying to clear something out from his ears. "It's not right. It would mess with anyone's head."

"We're lost." She says it so that she doesn't have to keep thinking it, keep hearing it repeated in her mind. "We're lost, and we're going in circles."

"That is true."

"What are we going to do?" Alistair shrugs, and Tali can feel her heart gallop again, anxiety running sour through her veins. Thankfully, though, Abarie understands at last, and the mabari approaches her with a snuffling nose, tucking her large head under Tali's arm and nuzzling into her side.

"We'll wait until the others are done arguing, and then we'll decide. I think they're getting close to deciding we stay here for a few hours. Or, at least, that's what it seems like."

"And you're…you're alright with that?" Shrugging, Alistair mulls over the question.

"I don't see another option, really. It would hardly be smart to make a decision in the heat of an argument, and I don't see any of them making a decision the others agree with unilaterally, aside from staying here and calming down." That makes Tali calm ever so slightly. If he's not worried about the pause, at least not yet, then she can be calm about it, too.

"I don't think the forest wants to hurt us." Tali frowns—his voice is so certain.

"How can you know?" Another shrug, though this one appears more to be an attempt to shake the awkwardness from his shoulders.

"It's old, and there's something wrong, sure. Like I said, something rotten. But rot is just an infection. It isn't the forest's true nature." It's true, and remarkably perceptive—but then again, Alistair is better at being perceptive than he is at pretending that he's not.

"How can you tell?" Tali rephrases her question, and it makes Alistair frown ever so slightly.

"It's just a feeling. Almost like how we can feel the Darkspawn. But…different. I'm not sure how, I can just feel it." It makes at least some sense, Tali supposes. She opens her mouth again, ready to ask another question, but her concentration is shattered by a loud clap as Morrigan throws her hands up and then lets them fall back down to her sides, smacking her leather-clad thighs.

"At last, you see sense!" There's relief in her voice, if tinged with irritation.

"Ah, just like I thought." Alistair stands, offering his hand to Tali, and she takes it. He pulls her to her feet and she stumbles ever so slightly, but he's there to steady her. Abarie, too, braces her, standing solid behind her knees. The others begin to disperse, exhibiting varying levels of contentment with the result of the argument. Savreen, Tali can see, is neither particularly happy nor upset. She stands there, eyes poring over the scenery of the ruins around her.

"I should go speak to her," Tali tells Alistair, and when she walks toward her cousin, he follows her. "Alone, I mean."

"Oh. Yes. Exactly. I'll be over there," he says, pointing to a corner far from the others, hidden by shadow, "until you forget I did that." Tali smiles—again, she can't help it. He's good at making her feel less trapped, that much she knows. She heads for Savreen, moving cautiously across the uneven ground.

"What do you think?" Savreen, startled, turns to look at Tali in a flash, pulling her hand from her jaw as she does so.

"Oh. Tali. Sorry."

"No, I startled you." With a sigh, Savreen gestures to a crumbled step, meaning to sit there. Tali follows her movement, and so does Abarie, sitting right behind her.

"What was your question?"

"What do you think about this? The forest, the ruins?" Something slumps in Savreen's posture, and she shakes her head.

"I don't know what to think. Morrigan is convinced that the forest wants us to stay here, but I'm not sure how much a forest can want anything. Even so…" Savreen's voice trails off, leaving Tali to nudge her. "Sorry. Even so, I think waiting might be…might be best." Tali can feel her eyebrows raising, as if of their own accord.

"You do?"

"Where else will we go? Forward, only to circle back around to these same ruins in another hour? No, there's no point. We should wait, if only to satisfy Morrigan. But it is also good…to rest." Savreen's voice sounds as though she's convincing herself of that fact. It's clear to Tali when her cousin is restless, and right now, she fidgets back and forth, shifting her weight and changing her sitting position every few seconds.

"You don't like it, though, do you?" Savreen shakes her head.

"I think we are still being watched."

The ruins feel still, as though everything, even time, stops in their presence. Morrigan has been crouched in front of the remaining mosaics for what seems like the past hour, now, muttering to herself as her fingers trace the chips of stone and gems. As Savreen circles the courtyard—that's what she's decided it must be, a courtyard of some sort—she catches snippets of the witch's words. Mostly, they seem to be about Elven history, Dalish legends. Savreen knows a little, enough to avoid the chipped mosaic of a black wolf with many eyes of vivid red (it makes Sher growl a little, too, wary at her heels), but not enough to piece together an understanding from Morrigan's mumbles.

Sten, on the other hand, sits silent, on his knees, eyes closed. She thinks he's praying. It strikes her with a small blade of shame, not just for the fact that she's said her own prayers too infrequently of late, but for the fact that they've been moving so relentlessly that now should be one of the first times Sten is able to stop and pray. She will correct that. There is so much she hasn't really thought of when it comes to being the accidental leader of their small group, when it comes down to it. She wants to be confident, wants to trust in the spirit of her actions and the fact that what she does she does for the teachings of the Gurus. But it is hard, especially when they are here, stuck in this forest. When she doesn't know what to do next.

"Are you well?" Ranjit asks her, and it startles her from her daze of thought.

"I have been better," she responds, as thorough as she can be at the moment. The two of them look out over their scattered companions, at various levels of rest, if not relaxation. Leliana appears the least at ease, sitting and staring stiff-backed into the forest, while Zevran sleeps, mouth open, propped up against his bedroll, which in turn has been shoved between two rocks at roughly head-level. Alistair, Tali, and Abarie are playing some sort of game of fetch, even though they only throw the stick a few paces away each time, too afraid of it flying beyond their line of sight and into the darkness of the underbrush.

Savreen cannot help it any longer. She gives in. She turns to Ranjit and asks him her question.

"Do you think entering the forest was the wrong decision?" Ranjit blinks, apparently taken aback.

"Why do you wish to know?"

"I cannot help but feel as though this has doomed us." He looks at her, gaze hard and penetrating as he stares into her eyes. Now is perhaps not the time, but Savreen cannot help but think of how he never would have done so even a few weeks ago.

"I do not think there was a better decision to be made." The answer is diplomatic—too diplomatic for Savreen's wishes. She wants to know his honest opinion, unvarnished. She may be their de-facto leader, but she wants the truth.

"That is not an answer."

"Indeed. But I do not think there are any answers here. None that will satisfy you, anyway." That makes her brow furrow.

"What do you mean by that?"

"You want certainty. That is impossible." The frankness in his voice relieves her, even if she wishes his words were different. "You want to know if I think you made the wrong decision. I do not think there was any other decision you could have made, and that makes it both the right and the wrong choice, regardless of what you may wish." Surprisingly, it helps. Savreen nods. Ranjit's honesty restores at least some of her confidence.

"Then I will make it the right choice." A small smile plays at Ranjit's lips, almost hidden by his beard. It is a smile that makes Savreen think of Highever, of starlight, of stolen moments. It is a different smile, though, more secure, and despite everything, she is grateful for that.

"I am glad to have help—"

"You are trespassing on the lands of the Clans of the Brecilian Forest. Explain yourselves." He is interrupted by a loud, clear voice, slightly accented and lilting. It makes everyone stop and turn, like a crack of lightning.

A slight but muscular Dalish elf stares them down, bow drawn and trained on the closest member of their party, who just so happens to be Alistair. Her eyes are suspicious, but don't seem angry, nor do the eyes of the other elves who flank her, their own weapons out.

They may have failed to find the Dalish, but the Dalish have found them.