Morrigan

“Just… marvelous.” – Morrigan thought to herself as she pried open her eyelids that felt achingly heavy, woken up by several surprisingly impolite rays of sunlight. Her first sight was that of a quiet wilderness. This was the third time she had dozed off outside, though not quite unintentionally. There were days when she simply couldn’t stand that creaky hut, bursting with Flemeth’s sense of all-knowing superiority. The very thought of it made her cringe. So she’d transform into a wild creature of her choice and have herself a night of privacy and unhindered freedom. However, the hut was her home and she altogether found herself feeling quite comfortable with that fact.

Life with Flemeth was far from smooth sailing, but at least it did not seem as boring and trivial as the life of the village folk. Or so she tried to think, as a poor attempt at coping with the fact she was stuck here. Indeed, she would need more practice at lying to herself.

Morrigan shook off her reverie and went on to try and find some reasonable breakfast. The Wilds were quiet, as usual. Though, perhaps a little too quiet. Morrigan pinned the silence on the growing number of darkspawn. She was sure animals appreciated them just as much as humans – not at all, in fact. And like most humans, the animals simply fled out of their way. On the other hand, it was a nice day and Morrigan made a decision to lengthen her stroll as much as possible. She had disregarded Flemeth’s potential frustration altogether and decided to savor the moment, fully aware that such leisurely moments may become a sheer luxury in days to come.

She returned to the hut about an hour later with nothing but a skinny hare. This frustrated her quite a bit. The game nowadays seemed to be getting worse by the minute. No wonder the darkspawn are gaining, she thought, as she made her way inside, mentally preparing for Flemeth’s fury almost instinctively. Much to her fortune, Flemeth seemed to be in good spirits today and Morrigan found her already starting a stew over a small fire.

“There you are, girl. Had you been gone any longer, I’d think you ran away with the wolves!” – Flemeth laughed heartily.

“Give it here.” – She took the hare from Morrigan’s hands and examined it.

“Certainly not an enviable trophy, but it will do.” – Flemeth chuckled and carried it to the cooking table to prepare it for the stew.

Unsure what caused Flemeth’s particularly favorable mood and perfectly keen for it to linger, Morrigan walked by their disorderly bookshelf, picked up a book on Chasind lore and seated herself in a small chair, languidly flipping through the pages as the sound of the bubbling stew and Flemeth’s slight and precise knife lulled the atmosphere of the hut into a warm, homely calm.