ODA, WHERE IS TRAFALGAR LAW!!!!!!!!

If she were being honest, Ada had expected a more elaborate setup for their morning meditations. But she’d barely followed Halsin a few dozen steps away from the rock shelter when he had sunk to his knees on a large batch of moss and gestured at Ada to follow his lead.

So she sat there, cross-legged on a moist carpet of green. The moss was shot through with prickly roots that poked her in the backside and made her so uncomfortable that she wondered how Halsin could endure kneeling on it.

Ada looked at Halsin expectantly. When the druid remained silent, Ada asked, “So… how do I do this? Meditate, I mean?”

“Just sit with nature. Let your mind quieten.”

“Okay…” Ada was hesitant. “And what am I looking for? What am I supposed to achieve?”

Halsin slowly shook his head, a mild expression on his face. “There is no achievement to aim for. You can do nothing wrong.”

Well, this does not answer any of my questions, Ada thought.

He must have seen the sceptical look on her face, because he added, “You are not reaching out to nature, you are already part of it. Ground yourself in that knowledge and let the lines between nature and you blur.”

Ada nodded, though in all honesty, his words had been the opposite of helpful. If anything, she was more confused and sceptical than before. And yet, Ada took a deep breath.

Her eyelids closed with heavy finality. The early hour of this exercise made gravity pull her towards the ground even more than the exhaustion did. But her racing mind insisted on holding her upright, like a toy being wound up to keep it moving.

Her hands were wrapped around her ankles, and her fingers drummed against her skin in a steady rhythm. The tip of her tail dug into the moss beneath her. Ada tried to focus on the world around her, to listen to the dawn chorus and smell the damp earth and leaves. But she felt that many other sensations were snatching her attention.

Ada was hungry, her stomach was growling, and part of her resented Halsin for dragging her out here before breakfast. But she had promised to give this a try, to meditate with him. Although how was she going to make good on her promise if he did not even tell her what she had to do?

“You are restless.” Halsin’s voice startled Ada out of her meandering thoughts. As he slowly inhaled and then let out his breath, she braced to be scolded. Ada lightly opened her right eye to peer at him. Halsin sat before her, still as an old oak tree. There was no irritation on his face.

As he spoke, his voice was deep and calm. “If sitting still is a challenge, because your mind leads your body into waywardness, try counting your exhales. Observe how the air fills your lungs and count every time your breath leaves you again.”

And so, Ada tried again to ignore her stinging backside and her hunger and willed her hands and tail to relax.

Breathe in. Ada thought. Breathe out. And in, and…

Her mind no longer wandered. Instead, it had finally decided on a destination.

It went back to the comfort and safety of leaning against Gale’s shoulder. She did not remember how she got to her bedroll, but when she had stolen away from camp this morning, she had seen the wizard still asleep and looking just a little less worn.

Or is it me? She wondered. Maybe it’s just me who feels better.

She’d not exaggerated the night before: He was good for her. And she felt like she could be just as good a friend to him in return. Her heart might race and falter around him, but that would go away over time, wouldn’t it? She could really make this friendship thing work.

“Child, with so much on your mind, it is a wonder you were able to find the wildshape within you.”

Again, Ada startled. And again, she tried to look at Halsin sneakily. But this time, when she peered at him, he was looking at her directly. She dropped the facade and opened her eyes as well.

A little defensive, she replied, “Honestly, I think the wildshape rather found me. Also, how am I supposed to do this if you’re not telling me what I’m supposed to achieve? As it happens, I have a lot on my mind and… well… in it…”

She barely suppressed the urge to fold her arms and slouch in frustration. But the thought of Halsin revoking his offer and leaving her to deal with this on her own kept her in check.

Halsin did not reply instantly. Instead, he just looked at her. Then, he took another deep breath, his mouth twitching as if he was tasting the words before he spoke them.

“You did not wildshape at the goblin camp.”

That caught Ada by surprise. “What?”

“When I first met you, you were in great danger. You were scared. And yet you did not sprout feathers.”

Halsin kept looking at her in a way that made Ada uncomfortable. She could not read his expression, was unable to tell if his words were meant to scold her.

“Maybe my magic was… empty? Maybe I was too far from nature?”

Halsin shook his head. “I have yet to find a place nature can not reach. Even in that dark cell, I could feel it. And if your magic had been spent, Gale would have bled out then and there.”

A shiver ran through Ada. She could feel the sticky blood on her hands and hear Gale’s pleas, whispered with what little breath he’d had left. And she remembered how cold his hand had been when she had told him he’d be fine and that they would not leave him behind.

“I was desperate.” Ada whispered, “And when you left us to deal with the priestess and Ragzlin, it was like… nothing mattered anymore but to take them down and survive.”

She remembered how shocked Wyll had been when she revealed her plan to release the spiders. But it had not phased her then. She had been calm on the outside, but inwardly she had felt restless, driven, almost manic. All empathy had been bypassed for the simple goal of completing the mission and returning to the grove.

“You were angry.”

Ada blinked; her reply came like a shot from a gun. “I was not!”

“Why are you denying it?” There was no accusation in his tone.

“I… Halsin, I am not? I was backed into a corner and had reached my limit, I—”

“And what is anger, if not the last defence of a line crossed too often and too boldly?”

Ada fell silent. She felt called out and scrutinised all of a sudden. Like Halsin had found a dark secret within her, a coldness and ruthlessness she felt deeply uneasy with.

“I am not a monster.” Ada finally said, her voice barely more than a whisper.

She was tracing the inside of her index finger with the sharp tip of her thumbnail over and over, as if it were the physical manifestation of this mantra.

Halsin tilted his head, regarding her not with caution or hesitation, but with the expression of a patient teacher.

“You are not a monster, child.” He confirmed after a prolonged silence. “And neither is the owlbear.”

“Wildshape allows us to be one with nature in a manifestation of our inner world. Many druids take more than one shape, each aligned with an aspect of themselves. And anger is not a sign of monstrosity; it shows the drive to protect.”

“Like Kagha, who wanted to protect the grove through the ritual?”

Ada wished she had remained silent as soon as her words were out. She had felt embarrassed by her outburst, how a snappy retort had formed on her lips before she could swallow it back down.

I should not have angered him, Ada thought. Why did I challenge him? How can I fix this so he doesn’t yell at me?

“No.” Once again, the druid’s voice was calm, surprisingly, even annoyingly so. “Kagha tried to protect the druids, but she turned her fury not towards the goblins and the cultists, but the tieflings. A group of refugees she ought to have protected instead.”

“Your instincts do not seem to be as misguided as that,” he continued with an inclination of his head. “At the gate, you were cornered. It was a fight-or-flight situation. Since you didn’t run, you needed help to fight. To protect yourself and your companions.”

There was another silence, where Ada’s eyes were on the patch of moss in front of her. She understood what he was trying to say, but she also felt overwhelmed and hollow at the same time. She could poke no holes in his words, but it felt like none of this applied to her.

When Ada still did not speak, Halsin added, “I find myself most connected to the bear for its strength and how it protects. You saw me fight in bear form at the old temple. But I also turn to the shape in the quiet moments of companionship and rest. A druid’s wildshape is both expression and connection. If you fear the emotions it is connected to, it will be hard for you to open yourself to it.”

Ada cleared her throat and willed herself to meet his eyes. “So… what now?”

He chuckled then and said, “Now you leave me to my meditations and get some breakfast. Tonight, if our day allows, we both shall meet your anger and, possibly, your owlbear again.”

Ada’s heart suddenly squeezed together at the thought of being confronted with the beast so soon. But her growling stomach quickly distracted her from that, and she nodded at Halsin and made to get up.

“And we will try another meditation tomorrow morning,” Halsin said, his eyes already closed again, his hands resting on his knees.

“Dammit.” A part of Ada had hoped that this focus on her anger had gotten her out of the slow torment of meditating.

As she turned to go, she was convinced she saw Halsin smile to himself.

The rock shelter beckoned to Ada with the smell of toasted bread and the friendly chatter between her companions and the dwarves. It was more than welcome, a soothing softness after the sting of failure and frustration that her morning meditation had brought.

“How was your rendez-vous with nature, darling?” Astarion purred as he saw her approach. Ada knew full well that he could see the scowl on her face and that he was teasing her.

She made an exaggerated twirl and gave him a too-sweet smile. “Can’t you tell? All of nature recognises me as if I were an old friend. Birds come find me so that I can teach them lovely melodies.”

“That bad, huh?”

Ada only huffed in response.

With a smirk, the pale elf returned to moving around bits of breakfast on his fogged-up silver plate to keep up the facade of actually eating.

Last night, the companions had wordlessly agreed not to disquiet their newly made acquaintances with Astarion’s condition, lest there be wooden stakes or holy water thrown around.

As she reached the campfire, Ada greeted the others and gave Scratch’s head a gentle pat. The dog barely registered her; his eyes were fixed on Karlach in the hopes of scoring some more bacon.

“The hand that feeds is the hand that’s loved,” Gale said to Ada with a knowing smile as she sat down next to him. “I’d be surprised if he ever leaves her side again.”

She smiled back at him then, and he handed her a chipped mug of tea. Ada inhaled the aroma of mint that wafted from it. She was grateful for the gesture, and yet, after the morning she’d had, she’d kill for something stronger.

“Not in the mood for tea?”

Jesus, how does he always know? Ada thought. Briefly, she wondered if he had cast some mind-reading spell on her, but discarded this idea as quickly as it had appeared.

“The tea is nice. Thank you, Gale.” Ada took a demonstrative sip. There was honey in it, not too much, just enough to add a sweet balance to the cool sensation of the mint.

“Though I must admit: I would sell my tail for a good cup of coffee at this point.”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “My, but you do have expensive tastes. Even in Waterdeep, coffee is considered a luxury reserved for the most affluent social circles.”

Ada sat up straight and imitated a foppish manner of speaking. “That’s a shame. I find coffee is the most potent potion for invigorating your spirits. It gets you astir; touches parts of your soul little else can soothe.”

Gale’s eyes flicked to Astarion for a second, then back to Ada. They both chuckled at their shared inside joke.

“I never much liked coffee,” he admitted after a moment, “It is a bitter affront on the senses and, in my not-so-humble opinion, lacking in refinement. Not that I am not perfectly capable of serving a rich pour-over, if a guest asked for it. But I find coffee always falls short when compared to a fine tea from Shangtou. That kind of tea is no less expensive, mind you, but it is more thoroughly steeped in rich traditions. Brewed with precisely boiled water and best served with brown rock sugar and a hint of cream.”

He had lifted his hand to punctuate the word ‘hint’, his tone confident and engaged. Ada was relieved to see him in better spirits than he’d been.

“You are a heathen,” she told him with a roll of her eyes, “with no less expensive tastes than me, it appears.”

“Alas, I admit it.”

“And remember, Wicht”, Hein said as he pinched Ada’s cheek in a strangely affectionate manner, “If you ever make it to Baldur’s Gate, find my cousin Frithjof in the Upper City. He has a jewellery workshop there. The finest work you will find outside of the old homeland.”

Ada nodded as she straightened up again, resisting the urge to rub her cheek. “I will find him. Any message you want me to deliver?”

“Bah.” Hein waved to dismiss the idea. “He’s an old twat if I’m honest. Talented, but not enough so that I would wish to send him sentimental notes. No, Wicht, just tell him to make you a new nose ring.”

Bernat smiled at her and shook his head, clearly amused by his father.

“Why? What’s wrong with mine?” Ada tried to sound hurt, but could not suppress the upward twitch of her lips.

“Nothing’s wrong with it. But you deserve something traditional and well-made. A proper dwarven piece of jewellery that lets people know you’re a northerner.”

All four dwarves wore gold and silver accessories that were engraved with delicate patterns, intertwining in a precise yet lively manner. Jorg was the only one of them to wear a nose ring like Ada; the others wore jewellery in their lips or eyebrows, as well as in their ears.

Ada was speechless. Hein’s grumpy sort of kindness got to her, unexpected as it was. Especially after he had reminded her of her family and home.

“Thank you, Hein.”

“Now don’t get emotional, Wicht,” the old man looked at her sternly now, “just get the jewellery and keep the trade tongue alive, will you?”

All Ada could do was nod as he petted her arm before grumbling his goodbyes to the others and turning to his relatives.

The cart rolled past the companions in the opposite direction of where they were headed, and Ada couldn’t help but envy that their day would be spent walking downhill instead of up.

The sun hung high in the sky, and Ada’s legs were screaming. It was hot again; last night’s storm had done nothing but take away the few clouds that dimmed the sun now and then.

They had been walking for hours, and though they’d taken a short break to eat when the sun was at its peak, Ada felt the exhaustion settle into her bones.

It was during this stretch of quiet that Gale fell into step beside her, his robes swishing slightly as he moved. Ada gave him an exhausted smile, and he tipped his head in agreement.

There was some tension in his shoulders and movements, as if he was trying to relieve a sore muscle or move around the ache of an old injury.

“I’ve been thinking,” Ada began, and his head immediately turned to her, as if he had been waiting for her to start a conversation, “about magic in general. Would you humour some of my questions?”

His face lit up in an instant. It returned some of the spark to his eyes and made him look a little mischievous. “Anytime. What is it you want to know?”

She did not hesitate to jump into her first observation.

“There seem to be different flavours of magic. Like, it’s all magic somehow, but they have a different…” Ada’s hand went to her stomach. The other she pressed over her heart, “vibe to them. They resonate differently.”

“How so?” He sounded like a teacher, excited to guide an engaged student towards a discovery.

Ada thought for a moment. “Well, Shadowheart and Halsin’s magic feels earthy, like a drumming coming from the ground. Like you feel it more than you hear it, it’s the same deep vibration the Idol of Silvanus gave off.”

“But when you and Wyll cast a spell,” Ada continued, when he did not interrupt, “it is more melodical, more like a chord built from harmonious notes. That’s how I fixed the portal you were stuck in. I just put the harmony right again.”

Ada took in a deep breath. Climbing a mountain pass, it turned out, was not helped by having complex discussions about magic.

Gale hummed at her words, looking like she’d posed him a riddle, instead of offering him an observation. Surely, he knew what she was talking about.

“I believe what you are picking up on is the subtle difference between arcane and divine magic.” Gale hesitated, “I have just never heard anyone describe the difference in such sensory detail.”

Does he not feel magic in the same way I do? Ada wondered. Is it not as obvious or present? Does he not know how much of it he radiates and how it creates a hum inside my chest?

But then another thought came into her head. “Isn’t all magic divine? You said Mystra is the goddess of magic and that she controls all of it.”

With pursed lips, he swivelled his head. “Well, yes and no.”

Ada looked at him pointedly, gesturing for him to elaborate.

“Yes, Mystra is the goddess of magic. And since both the first magical energy and Mystra’s first incarnation came to be as a result of a fight between two goddesses, I can see how you could come to that conclusion.”

“But no, that is not why some magic is considered divine.”

He held his hands out before his torso, palms up, gesturing with his left as he continued.

“There is magic that is granted by deities, nature or other higher powers to those devoted to them. This magic is very closely tied to faith, service, and connection. Wielders of such magic are often druids or clerics, much like our two companions.”

He nodded ahead to Halsin and Shadowheart, while he used the pause in conversation to catch his breath.

“Also, there are paladins like Zevlor. Holy warriors or knights who protect the weak and uphold moral codes. They also use divine magic.”

Ada thought that was a fitting summary of Zevlor. A man who had lost his home and position and still tried to lead his people to safety.

Gale’s left hand stilled, and his right started to move now, his fingers waving through the air like he was attempting a spell.

“Arcane magic, on the other hand, is obtained through different means. Warlocks make bargains for power, sorcerers and some non-humans inherit magical abilities. Then there are bards, who invoke magic through stories, music and dance, and monks who use their inner power to manifest their will.”

The last few words had winded him, and he started to cough. As Ada made a step towards him, he lifted a hand to keep her at a distance.

“Apologies,” he muttered, then added in a low voice, so only Ada could hear him, “my condition is still dragging at me, I fear. But I can manage.”

She gave him a doubtful look.

“Rest assured, that I will confide in you the next time I need help. I have accepted that I must burden you, as much as I loathe it.”

He spoke that last sentence with such distaste, and Ada could see the corner of his mouth lift into a snarl. However, before she could reassure him or intervene in his self-hatred, he continued to talk.

“Last but not least, there are those who study magic, who seek to shape and control it through practice and knowledge. They bend the Weave to their will through understanding, not through divine blessing.”

His tone was chipper, and his voice louder again. Ada had the feeling that this mask was less for her benefit than for his own, as well as to keep up appearances before the others.

“You seem to be very devoted to magic,” Ada observed. “When you speak about magic, you seem in love, almost. And you called Mystra your goddess. So, why are you a wizard and not a cleric?”

When she turned to him with a teasing smile, Ada knew immediately she had said the wrong thing, especially when his eyes grew sad for just a moment.

His mouth tightened to a hard line, his hands fell to his side and flexed as if he was trying to busy them to keep them from strangling someone. The muscles in his face moved restlessly, rotating through various expressions like a kaleidoscope.

Why does the mention of his goddess upset him this much? And why has she not yet intervened in his illness? Ada wondered. Is his goddess as distant and cold as the god I grew up with?

“Gale, I—” she began, without even knowing what she had done wrong. He looked so hurt, and she wanted to apologise, but he cut her off.

The smile on his face was painfully disingenuous, and so was his unbothered tone. “I am still not sure where you fit into all of this. As I said, you have no magically gifted ancestors, no formal training in any arcane tradition, no religious devotion…” He tipped the points off on his fingers.

Gale turned his head to her, and Ada saw something manic in his eyes like the mystery of her spellcasting was driving him towards madness.

“This is not how the arcane art is supposed to work. You don’t abide by any rules, and still, the Weave listens. You have access to spells that point toward a druidic education. Calling you a bard makes sense when observing your knack for emotional casting, and your enchanting singing—“ He broke off and cleared his throat.

“Then, there is the mystery of your infernal bloodline, because based on the comments from the devils we’ve met, they can’t place you. That is little wonder, given that you are, well… not from this plane. But then, why are you a tiefling now, when you were human before?”

Ada nodded impatiently. “Yeah, that about sums up all I don’t understand. Because why would the mindflayers turn me into another species?”

“I don’t think they did.” His voice told Ada that this was more than a general hypothesis. He had thought about this before. “Nothing I have ever read about Illithids, or mind flayers, to use the more common term, has suggested they transform their victims into anything other than sentient incubators.”

He bit his lower lip, deep in thought. “It seems more likely that the changes to your body happened before your capture. And that something other than a mind flayer is the reason you came to Faerûn.”

There was a longer silence between them, in which Ada turned his words over in her head, trying to spot a hidden thread that would connect the dots and make them make sense.

She wanted to ask Gale if he thought she would ever get home. But she feared what his reply might be. There were portals capable of transporting people to remote locations, and technology existed to cross the planes.

There has to be a way, Ada determined with more confidence than she felt. Some wizard or cleric or devil must be able to send me home once all this is over.

Then, her eyes fell on Wyll, who had set down his backpack a few dozen paces before her. He apparently had decided it was time for a short rest.

However, the prospect of a long-awaited break could not distract Ada from Mizora's words to Wyll shortly after his transformation.

‘Get used to the new form, pet—there’s no going back. Some magic, even I can’t undo.’

Ada felt sick at the thought that her new form might be irreversible; that this could be the insurmountable obstacle to her return home.

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