Ada the Pink Bard

The short rest eased the pain in their muscles, but the mood had reached a low point. The companions trudged along the winding path like listless schoolchildren on their way to class.

A shrill screech made them all perk up and freeze mid-step. Wyll and Karlach exchanged a nervous look, and Scratch let out a soft whimper.

The screech came again, but louder this time—closer. The sound of heavy wings came next, just before a huge shadow passed over the rocky path they were on.

The crimson beast soared through the sky like a celestial body. The dragon’s rough, red scales were gleaming in the sunlight; its belly was lighter, almost a silvery gold. Its movements were majestic, its sheer size seeming to negate the fluency and elegance of its motions.

For the duration of a breath, Ada was back on the Nautiloid, feeling the heat of the fire and the tug-of-war between terror and wonder in her chest.

The dragon let out a guttural sound that echoed through the mountains, leaving goose bumps on Ada’s skin. Her excitement soared. She took a few steps forward instinctively, eyes locked onto the majestic creature.

She stood a few strides ahead of the others now, almost at the crest of the ridge they had just climbed. Her head was tilted back, and she blinked against the sky in the hopes of catching another glimpse of the dragon.

From behind her, she heard sharp intakes of breath and Gale pointedly whispering her name.

“Ada!” She glanced backwards to see him crouching beside some shrubbery, his gaze dark and wary. “This isn’t a spectacle to admire. It's a threat.”

As she looked around, she saw the others had tried to make themselves disappear in crags or under one of the sparse trees. Everyone, that was, but her and Lae’zel.

Ada’s excitement deflated under the weight of the warning, yet Lae’zel eyed her with an expression resembling approval. It seemed to please her that Ada appreciated the dragon as much as she did.

The rest of the group had become tense and silent. Shadowheart’s hand was already on her mace, her eyes narrowed as they followed the dragon’s path across the sky. Karlach’s jaw clenched, her fiery hair snapping in the wind as she instinctively shifted into a fighting stance. Wyll had gone eerily quiet, scanning the mountainside as if expecting danger to emerge from every crack.

However, Lae’zel now stood next to Ada, and her voice sounded like worship. “Draa! Vlaakith gha'g shkath zai!”

Turning to her, Lae’zel added, “A red dragon. My kin must be nearby.”

“Let’s not be hasty,” Wyll said hurriedly as he caught up with Ada and Lae’zel. The others were directly behind him.

Ada opened her mouth to agree, but was cut off immediately.

“We follow it,” Lae’zel declared, her voice hard as steel. Her yellow eyes gleamed with a rare excitement. “That dragon will lead us to the patrol.”

Lae’zel’s single-mindedness was nothing new to the companions, but the tension in her body and the eagerness in her eyes made Ada uneasy.

“That thing could burn us alive with one huff.” Gale declared, “Mind if we don’t risk it and approach carefully?”

Shadowheart nodded vigorously. “I’ve warned you all about the Gith before. They’re dangerous. That dragon and its rider are no different.”

Ada chewed her lip, her excitement now replaced with a knot of fear twisting in her stomach. She shot a glance at Gale, who met her eyes with a look that said he agreed with Shadowheart. Still, Lae’zel wouldn’t be swayed.

“Fear weakens the mind,” Lae’zel snapped. “The Gith will not harm us as long as they see me among you.”

Her yellow eyes were now fixed on Ada. “Since we met, I have not led you astray; you can trust me. I don’t need you to believe this, for it to be true.”

This was an undeniable fact. For all her rudeness and obstinacy, Lae’zel had been a loyal ally, if a temperamental one. And yet, judging by the looks of the other companions, they were not convinced of this.

“Let’s get to the top of this hill and have a look,” Ada suggested, if only to postpone the decision for a few more moments. She gave a nod to Lae’zel, and the warrior turned and led them onward.

The other side of the hill sloped steeply downwards. Below lay a wide area resembling a parade ground. To their left was a wooden palisade fortification stretching across the entire width of the field. The gate in the fortification was open, the battlement unoccupied.

On the opposite side was a small gate decorated with colourful ribbons and carvings. Above it was the symbol of a sun. It was a landmark for a pilgrimage route that led further up the mountain.

The remaining side of the square was an open ravine. The stone bridge that had led to the other side was destroyed.

Two groups faced each other on the square. Ada immediately recognised them as Flaming Fist soldiers by their armour. There were about half a dozen of them, all with their backs to the precipice and, as far as she could tell, unarmed.

Opposite them stood just as many Githyanki soldiers. Their distinct silver armour shone in the sunlight, their movements precise and deliberate as they surrounded the Flaming Fist. All of them held heavy weapons in their hands.

‘This is your last warning!’ stammered one Flaming Fist. “Drop your weapons. NOW!”

A murmur went through the group of gith; a disrespectful sound of contempt, not even a chuckle. A woman in their ranks raised her sword and assumed a fighting stance.

“Htak’a!”

The command was loud and clear, and her comrades followed her movement with frightening synchronicity.

But none of the Flaming Fist would feel the silver weapons of the Gith; the moment the command echoed across the field, the dark shadow of the dragon glided over them all once more.

This time, Ada could smell the sulphur and flames even before she saw the fire engulfing the soldiers at the gorge.

The cries of pain and the heat of the fire on her skin made Ada shudder.

Heat. Burning Flesh. Images from the nautiloid and the goblin camp filled her head for a moment. Fear ran through her, and she felt her sharp nails dig into her palm.

“Oakfather, preserve us,” Halsin grumbled next to Ada.

The dragon’s talons made a ghastly sound on the rocks as it settled on the edge of the field. The Gith astride it dismounted with a swift leap, moving with the kind of efficient fluidity Ada had only seen in Lae’zel.

“You are not here to play with the locals,” the man barked at the Githyanki warriors. “Our queen watches us. Fail her at your own peril.”

Ada felt a shiver run down her spine.

His voice was sharp, commanding, and carried the same ruthless edge as Lae’zel’s, but there was something far more menacing.

It was clear that this was someone of great authority, likely their commander. His armour, adorned with silver and blood-red accents, was more elaborate than the others, his face hard and weathered. His gaze swept over the scene with disdain, and when he spoke, his voice carried across the battlefield like the crack of a whip.

The Gith soldiers hastily followed his order and began looting the remains of the burned men and women. Their approach was methodical and diligent; they seemed unbothered by the smell or the fact that these charred figures had been people just moments before.

Shadowheart’s face was grim. “This is what I warned you about,” she hissed with a searing look at Ada.

Karlach and Astarion did not seem keen on a closer look at the patrol or the dragon either. But Lae’zel’s eyes were locked on her kin, her expression fierce and determined.

“We are not like these soldiers,” she insisted, her voice tight. “I am a child of Gith. They will not harm us.”

Her confidence was admirable, and while Ada trusted Lae’zel, she did not trust the patrol on the parade ground below them.

Lae’zel’s posture straightened, and before any of them could react, she was already striding down the hill toward the commander.

Ada made an instinctive grab for Lae’zel’s arm but missed her by an inch. She doubted she could have stopped the warrior even if she’d made contact.

So, Ada stood there, looking after Lae’zel for a heartbeat, while the rest of the group hesitated as well, uncertain what to do next. At this point, they had little choice but to follow, so they grudgingly began moving.

Meanwhile, Lae’zel’s gaze was fixed on the Gith commander. She stopped in front of him, her head held high.

“Rider, my time is short! Lead me to—”

“Shh…”

The commander’s interruption was a sharp, dangerous hiss. He lifted his palm and tilted his head, looking at Lae’zel with a mix of amusement and contempt.

None of the other gith paid the strange group of travellers much attention. The soldiers were completely undisturbed by them running after Lae’zel; the companions registered as little more than scrurrying vermin to them.

Ada came into earshot just in time to hear the commander’s next words.

“Such a familiar tone. Were I not merciful, I would slice the skin clean from your meat. Yet you are not bleeding, for I am nothing if not merciful.”

His voice hardened around the last words. Ada’s heart pounded in her chest, and not just from the sprint to catch up with Lae’zel. This was reckless and dangerous.

The tension in the air was suffocating, and every instinct screamed at her to pull Lae’zel away. However, it was clear to Ada that the patrol would not just leave them be after they had shown themselves. They had made their bed and now they’d have to lie in it.

Under the commander’s intense scrutiny, Lae’zel stood firm, though Ada noticed the slightest tremor in her stance.

“Your name, child,” he demanded.

“Lae’zel,” she replied. Her voice was clear, but Ada had never heard her speak with an undertone of veneration before. The commander’s expression shifted, something like approval flickering across his stern features.

“Lae’zel,” he mused, “Proud. Regal even. You will call me Jhe’stil Kith’rak.”

Lae’zel nodded, her voice reverent now. “Voss. Knight Supreme. The queen’s silver, the queen’s sword.”

“I am who you say,” he confirmed with a quiet satisfaction, clearly relishing the respect in her words. “A ghaik vessel has fallen from the sky, Lae’zel. Thieves aboard have taken a weapon most precious.

“It is polyhedric in shape and inscribed with the runes of our people,” Voss continued.

Ada’s stomach dropped, and beside her, she felt Shadowheart shift uncomfortably. That description sounded a little too familiar.

On the bridge, before the goblin camp, Ada had briefly seen the artefact as it protected them from the voice of the Absolute. And each of its many sides had had glowing symbols on it.

As Voss spoke, Ada felt a tremor through her mind and body. The artefact seemed to stir, like it was alive, and it was afraid. It didn’t want to be found by the Githyanki. Inwardly, Ada begged her body not to betray her nerves now.

The commander’s cold gaze lingered on Lae’zel. “Take word to the nearest Crèche, just over the mountain pass. You are to join the search.”

Lae’zel hesitated for the briefest of moments, her eyes flicking toward Ada.

For the first time, Ada saw doubt in the githyanki warrior’s eyes. Ada gave Lae’zel the slightest shake of the head, begging her to play along and not give them away. If the truth came out now, Ada was sure it would be their end.

Lae’zel nodded, then bowed to the Kith’rak.

Voss studied her for a moment longer before nodding, apparently satisfied. “Speak up, child. Affirm your mandate.”

Standing up straight, looking directly into the commander’s face, Lae’zel confirmed her task. “You honour me with this duty, Kith’rak. I shall alert my caretaker with haste.”

Her voice was stronger now than it had been before. But as their eyes met again, Ada saw the unspoken fear there. Even Lae’zel knew this was a dangerous path.

“You serve your queen well, child,” Voss commended. “Take your slaves and hunt those who escaped the ghaik ship. They must carry the weapon.”

“Yes, Jhe’stil Kith’rak.” Lae’zel gave him a nod, but did not move. She waited for something else, an official dismissal.

As he mounted the dragon, Voss addressed not only Lae’zel but the members of his patrol. “I fly now to Vlaakith, our Undying Queen. She will see your faith rewarded in this plane and ours.”

Something about the way he said this did not feel right to Ada. She had the distinct feeling he was going many places. His queen’s side was not one of them.

The Kith’rak raised his arm. “Qudenos, to the sky!” And with that, the dragon spread its wings and jolted upwards like an arrow.

“Come!” Lae’zel commanded, and the group followed her without complaint, if only to keep up the appearance of their servitude. She led them through the decorated pilgrim’s gate and up another steep incline.

Once they were safely out of earshot, Lae’zel rounded on them.

“Dammit all!” Her fury cut through the silence like a blade nicking skin.

Ada shuddered as Lae’zel’s yellow eyes landed on her.

“You did well to intervene, vexed as I am to admit it. The Jhe’stil Kith’rak would have flayed our skin and left our carcasses to burn in the sun…”

Abruptly, Lae’zel straightened and strode towards Shadowheart.

“All this for the sake of the artefact that you carry.” Lae’zel’s voice was dangerously low, her stance wide and unyielding.

Karlach stood beside Shadowheart with a rigid posture, watching the gith warrior intently. Ada was sure that if Lae’zel made a move to attack the cleric, Karlach would intervene.

“Lae, what do you want?” Karlach asked carefully, while Shadowheart just stared daggers at Lae’zel. The tiefling’s words did not even register; Lae’zel did not even look at Karlach, her entire attention was on the cleric.

“You carry a githyanki relic. I will have an explanation… or your head.”

Shadowheart barely reached Lae’zel’s shoulder, and yet, she did not seem intimidated in the least by the towering warrior. “Walk away. Now. I won’t warn you again.”

Lae’zel raised her voice. “You have an heirloom precious to my kin! You have kept it hidden long enough.”

She bared her teeth in a ferocious snarl. “I will have it back.”

“An heirloom, you call it?”

Shadowheart’s voice was mocking, with a cold disbelief layered beneath. “Plunder from some conquered realm, more like.”

Shadowheart looked at the other companions, who all stood and watched this confrontation unfold. “This artefact is the only thing keeping us from becoming slaves to our parasites. You should all be glad I have it!”

She sounded hurt suddenly, like she could not believe that siding with her was not a foregone conclusion.

Wyll made a small step towards Shadowheart, an attempt at diplomacy.

“Whatever the origin of this artefact may be, it is the only thing keeping us from turning into mindflayers. For now, its purpose is greater than anyone’s claim.”

“Well, we’re not the only ones laying claim to it, are we?” Astarion asked with an annoyed look at the warlock. “The cultists want it. So do the githyanki. It must be worth a fortune.”

He had a hungry look in his eyes as he said this. Ada shot him a dirty look.

“Right now, the most valuable thing it does is protect us,” she said firmly, intently meeting her companions’ eyes. “So, can we all agree to hold onto it as long as we are infected?”

Her companions all made noises of assent, though none of them seemed to want to elaborate on the time after their infection. 

“So… what next?” Karlach asked. She looked a little more at ease, now that Lae’zel and Shadowheart stood a few strides apart.

Lae’zel did not hesitate. “The créche is near. We follow the path forward and into the valley. No one, not even the ignoble Jhe’stil Kith’rak, will keep me from my purification.”

“Have you lost your mind?” Wyll burst out. “We just agreed to protect the artefact and now you want to follow orders and alert your crèche?”

“It is not ‘my’ crèche, istik. I am from crèche K’liir.” Lae’zel’s posture straightened, indignant, as if that should have been apparent to them. “The Jhe’stil Kith’rak assumed I was returning to my caretaker with my slaves.”

“Homicidal fanatics aside,” Shadowheart said, with another pointed look at Lae’zel, “Who says that this cure the githyanki have even works on our parasites?”

“Who says we even want to part with them?” Astarion added. “Do none of you want to learn about their potential and what powers they might gift us?”

“Ghaik trickery!” Lae’zel called out. “There is no power to be gained, only enslavement!”

“Well, if anyone knows the ways of the illithid, it’s the githyanki,” Gale conceded. “And since this artefact originates from them, they might even know more about its powers and uses.”

Lae’zel nodded at that. “The ghaik are my people’s mortal enemies. We have hunted them for aeons, learned all there is to learn about them. In the timeless city of Tu’narath, our queen’s finest scholars have bountiful time to consolidate and conserve this knowledge.”

Gale had put on a sagely expression. “And knowledge, as we all know, is its own form of power.“

His tone brightened considerably as he continued, “So how about we enter that crèche, keep our knowledge of the artefact to ourselves and find out as much as we can? If we get cured in the process, we’ll consider it an additional treat.”

Wyll looked unconvinced, and Astarion pouted at them from the tree stump he was lounging on. But if Ada hadn't miscounted, the majority was in favour of a brief visit to the crèche.

“One more thing,” Ada added, softer now but with no less resolve. “We don’t need anyone else coming for the artefact. The gith are not the only ones looking for it. Let us agree on one thing: We’ll keep it secret. Keep it safe.”

This time, Ada looked at each of them in turn, intent on getting a promise out of all of them. Each of them delivered with a ‘yes’ or an ‘aye’.

When she came to Halsin, Ada hesitated. He was not under the artefact’s protection, nor had he tried to claim it in any way. And yet, being near the artefact meant he would likely be killed alongside them if someone came for it.

Sheepishly, Ada said, “I guess we already started keeping it a secret by not telling you about it. Apologies, Halsin, we—”

“There is no need,” the druid said, though his face was serious. “You had no obligation to tell me, though I would have preferred to know of this sooner. I assume it is the same artefact for which the cultists were threatening to destroy my grove?”

Ada nodded uncomfortably.

“In our defence,” Astarion threw in casually, “the grove was already under attack when we got there. Araddin and his crew led the goblins there, not us.”

Ada shot him another exasperated look, but he rolled his eyes at her.

The group fell silent; the only audible sound was the wind rushing along the mountains’ flanks below them.

Lae'zel cast one last glance at Shadowheart, her eyes hard with distrust. “This is not over yet.” She turned and moved away, her back rigid.

Thankfully, Wyll broke the tension in the air by awkwardly clapping his hands. “Well, this seems as nice a place as any to set up camp for the night.”

As the others began setting up camp, Ada hesitated for only a second before following Lae’zel. The githyanki was heading toward a rocky outcrop at the edge of their makeshift clearing, her posture rigid and unreadable in the fading light.

Lae’zel didn’t turn when Ada approached. But the muscles in her back tightened.

“Speak.”

Ada did her best not to bristle at the aggressive tone. “I was wondering… well…”

She took a deep breath. “The kith’rak. Who is he, exactly? And will the crèche obey his orders?”

Lae’zel turned slowly, arms crossed tightly over her chest. “Kith’rak Voss is second only to Vlaakith herself. All true githyanki obey him, for to obey him is to obey our queen. He has held his command for centuries.”

Ada blinked. Centuries. Then again, Lae’zel had told her time didn’t pass in the Astral Plane. It still made her head spin.

There was a beat of silence. The wind tugged at Ada’s cloak, cold now that the sun had vanished behind the mountains.

She took a breath. “Listen, Lae’zel. I trust you.” That got Lae’zel’s attention. Her eyes narrowed, but she finally turned fully to face Ada.

“You’ve been a worthy ally. You have kept your word. You are a strong fighter and… maybe even a friend—”

Lae’zel huffed. Loudly.

Okay, okay. I see we’re not quite there yet. Ada forced a smile, hoping it made her appear reasonable and benevolent.

“But look, if we’re going to follow you into this crèche, you’ll need to be less...”

Terrifying. Arrogant. Rude. Abrasive. Stubborn.

“…hostile.”

Lae’zel’s eyes flared dangerously.

“What I mean,” Ada continued quickly, “is that calling us by our species or abilities isn’t helping. And I am not sure I want to know what ‘istik’ means.”

“It means stranger.” Lae’zel shot out. “Foreigner. Not one of the children of Gith.”

“Noted.” Ada replied drily, “But for the sake of this group, for all of us, would you consider maybe not doing that anymore?”

Her voice had gone up at the end, ending in a pitiful squeal. She was very aware that the mean green lady very much still had her greatsword within reach.

Lae’zel lifted her chin, quite literally looking down her nose at Ada.

“What would you have me call you then? Am I supposed to treat you like equals?”

“That would be a start,” Ada said, annoyance shadowing over her fear. “And then, you could even step it up by calling us by our names. I am Ada. The warlock’s name is Wyll… and the cleric you keep fighting with is called Shadowheart.”

Another huff from Lae’zel, this time with even more disdain. Her jaw was tense as she looked Ada up and down.

“I do not suffer fools,” she said at last, “And I am not used to travelling with— people who are not my kin.”

“And if you’re lucky, you won’t have to for much longer,” Ada told her, “but for now, we’re in this together. And I have told you we appreciate your skills.”

Ada could not help her eyes from flicking to the large silver weapon on Lae’zel’s back.

“But it would make it a lot easier to have your back in arguments if you would afford us some basic courtesy.”

Another long pause. Yellow eyes narrowing even further. Then, a sigh.

“G’lyck. As you wish… Ada.”

Ada smiled, enthused by her diplomatic success. She nodded her head slightly, in an attempt to mimic Halsin’s graceful patience. “Thank you, Lae’zel. See you at dinner.”

The view of the sunset over the mountainous valley was breathtakingly beautiful. Ada could see the path they would take the next day, and she could have wept with relief at the fact that it went downhill. It snaked through a ragged labyrinth of cracks and crevices of reddish cliffs.

Ada’s body ached from the relentless march, her muscles sore and her skin still warm from the day’s sun. Today’s encounter with the patrol and the ensuing tension had made the steep inclines even harder to bear.

Now, just after dinner, she stood on one of the few grassy patches that survived the harsh mountain conditions. A sigh slipped from her as she tried to steady her thoughts, letting the sounds of her companions’ quiet movements filter in through her exhaustion.

Across from her, Halsin stood like an unmoving pillar of calm, his arms folded as he regarded her patiently. Nearby, Gale sat on a felled tree trunk, one leg crossed over the other, with a wooden board and a scroll balanced on top.

He had asked to be allowed to attend the lesson out of academic curiosity and to document and better understand Ada's druidic magic.

‘This is not how the arcane art is supposed to work.’ Those had been Gale’s words this morning. Words that had stuck with Ada all day, making her feel self-conscious.

It feels like even in this world, I don’t quite fit in. And everyone seems to be able to tell.

A knot formed in Ada’s stomach, an all too familiar ache to belong entirely. To be seamlessly included in the ecosystem around her. And yet, when she glanced over at Gale, his eyes met hers with that quiet steadiness that made her feel warmth spread in her belly.

“Ada.”

Halsin’s voice brought her back to the lesson she was supposed to be paying attention to. He placed his hands over his stomach, signalling her to do the same.

“Let us find the tipping point, where the emotion starts taking physical shape.”

Ada mimicked him, her palms resting against her abdomen as she drew in a long, slow breath. She felt a little ridiculous, standing there with her hands on her stomach, while Halsin instructed her. But the calm in his voice filled the air, pressing gently against her stubborn tension.

“The owlbear is not separate from you. Neither is its fury.” Halsin said slowly. “They are both part of nature, as you are. Breathe deeply, close your eyes, and reach into yourself to find them.”

Maybe that’s why I’m this tall, Ada grumbled inwardly, to make enough room inside me for me.

She clumsily began searching herself for her anger, like someone patting themself down to find a bruise or a sore spot. There were a lot of things to be angry about, weren’t there?

I am angry about the tadpole, she thought to herself. I am angry about Kagha and how she got off lightly. I am angry at the other druids who would rather pray than actually do something to stop her.

In her chest, a restlessness started to grow, and it began reaching out, setting more of her mind aflame.

I am disgusted by the goblins’ cruelty. I am furious that they have their goddess, and we don’t have any divine assistance. I am annoyed with Shadowheart and Lae’zel for their bickering. I am angry at this entire bloody plane for being so complicated and dangerous. I am angry that this situation is making me feel overwhelmed. I hate walking uphill. I hate the endless sun. I hate having to keep it all in. I hate having to be strong.

It felt like flames had erupted from the centre of her chest. Her skin felt hot, her hands shook with the mass of unused energy within her. Like a wildfire, her fury shot through her, consuming all it found in its wake.

Gooseflesh spread over her skin, but with actual feathers sprouting from each raised bump. Ada felt the pain of her bones growing, stretching her skin almost to breaking point. A tremor ran through her jaw as the wildshape attempted to form it into a beak.

Ada wanted to scream, attempted to clap her hands over her mouth. But her fingers were painfully bent, halfway through their transformation into talons. Any sound she might have made died in her throat.

She was deaf to the world around her; she heard only the racing of her own heart, louder than anything else. The panic she’d felt that day in front of the grove was creeping back, tightening her chest and clouding her mind. Her insides turned to ice as she felt her sense of self slipping away, and she gritted her teeth, trying to bury the images.

The ground seemed to sway, and she stumbled back, her feet slipping from beneath her as she hit the ground with a solid thud, the impact jarring her spine. The pain in her back drew the air from her lungs. Like a fish out of water, she helplessly gasped for air.

“Ada.” Halsin crouched beside her, his expression warm but serious, his gaze searching. “Do not be afraid, your breath will return. Trust in your body.”

With a painful croak, Ada’s lungs filled again. She tried to sit up, fighting the blush of embarrassment that crept up her neck. Ada went to wipe some sweat from her brow and was relieved to see that her hands were back to their original orange state.

“Fuck,” she rasped between two horrifically rough breaths, “that was terrible. I am sorry, Halsin.”

The druid raised an eyebrow at that. “It was a necessary stumble,” was all the response Ada got. Halsin stood, offering a hand, and Ada gratefully took it.

“I got scared,” she explained, uncomfortable with the silence. She dusted herself off and looked at Halsin, then at the wizard a couple of yards away.

Gale was watching them intently, his eyes alert and piercing—the familiar expression of his interest and fascination.

“It is hard to trust the process. I don’t want to lose myself again, and the pain is scary.” Ada chewed on the inside of her lip. “I found the anger, alright. But then it just kept on burning, kept on growing. I had no control.”

“Just as a gardener has no control over the direction in which sunflowers grow. They follow the sun, as nature intended, little sapling.”

Ada huffed at Halsin’s words. If he kept being this cryptic, she would add him to her list of things that made her angry. What was all that even supposed to mean?

“So, I just let the anger take over?” she challenged.

Halsin shook his head. “No, you let it exist.”

“Yeah, I am going to need a bit more guidance than that, if I’m honest…”

The druid made a humming noise, looking at Ada directly. She hated being this difficult, hated not being able to figure out what to do more intuitively. And the way he kept looking at her made her more and more uneasy.

How is he this calm? Where does he draw all his patience from? And what will happen if he runs out, and I am the reason for it?

“Imagine your anger is a hornet’s nest.” Halsin suggested, “Do not fear it, do not run from it and do not poke it. Acknowledge it is there and just let it buzz. And then, when the shape comes to you, you slowly let it take hold. It is a balance between letting go and staying present.”

Ada tilted her head and looked up at him. She felt reminded of her first driving lessons. She had learned how to start the car, slowly release the clutch, and carefully press the gas pedal so as not to stall the engine or lurch forward.

She sighed deeply. “Alright, let me try again.”

Halsin gave her a slight, approving nod and took a few steps back, allowing her space. His manner was calm as ever, with just a hint of an encouraging smile on his face.

Ada closed her eyes and tried listening to that buzz of anger inside herself again.

She thought of Aradin’s cowardice and how he had left two men behind in the goblin camp without a second thought. She thought of the contemptuous glances that Araddin's companions had cast at the Tieflings, and how Zevlor didn't even seem surprised by them anymore.

It appeared just as hot as it had the first time, the fire in her chest. But instead of stoking it, she just listened to it, trying to hear the logs crackle and pop, the flames hiss as they reached for air.

A shift began in her muscles, a tingle prickling at the base of her spine. But this time, it was less violently painful. She could feel her body changing, her limbs growing heavier, her senses sharpening. The deep humming of magic vibrated up from the ground into her feet and up her legs.

The rough prickle of feathers whispered over her skin, and she felt her muscles stretching. Her skin no longer restricted her bones from elongating, but expanded smoothly. Claws emerged from her hand, just before the transformation forced her down on all fours.

A cold rush filled her as her vision sharpened, colours dimming, yet each shape and movement around her became more vivid and precise. She felt it all: the immense power in her limbs, the strength that thrummed through each muscle, the earth humming beneath her massive claws.

The smoke of the fire curled sharply and acrid in her nares. It smelled like danger. Beneath it, the smell of roasting food, decadent and irresistible. Her stomach growled at these remnants of dinner, and she was surprised when she found her hunger fixated only on the scent of meat.

A whimper drew her eyes. Scratch had scrambled to his feet, tail tucked, ears flat. He barked once, confused and afraid. Ada halted, unsure of herself suddenly. Then, slowly, she lowered her great feathered head. She blinked at him.

“Hey, Scratch. It’s just me.” It was a screech, no discernible words left her beak, but recognition dawned in his eyes. His tail gave a tentative wag.

Ada dared to move then, rolling her shoulders. Power rippled through her like a tide. Muscles bunched and stretched; the faintest breeze teased between her feathers. Her new strength felt exhilarating. Had she wanted to, she could have torn the stones from the mountain’s crown or uprooted trees.

She huffed in delight, feeling it rumble through her, and made a small leap forward. The ground shook beneath her weight, sending loose stones scattering, and she felt a laugh, wild and raw, tremble through her.

Across the camp, Wyll flinched slightly, his eyes widening as he took in her new form, his hands lifting somewhat as if to steady himself.

Halsin watched her, nodding approvingly. “Very good.”

She chuffed again in excitement, feeling the rumble of sound roll from her throat. The ground felt sturdy beneath her, and she wanted to bound forward, to explore every crevice of this new power. For the first time, the wild felt good, rather than an unknown terror waiting to consume her.

Even on all fours, Ada was almost as tall as Halsin now. She stood up to her full height, swaying slightly as she tried to find her balance with her new skeleton.

Halsin suddenly looked small, though still broad-shouldered and strong. But Ada was easily three or four feet taller than him. The feeling of power and strength was intoxicating.

“Halsin, this is awesome!” Ada growled, clawing at the air to flex her arms and get used to the feeling of the muscles in them. Her eyes fixed on Gale who had gotten to his feet and looked up at her open mouthed now. His writing materials lay forgotten on the trunk beside him.

Excitedly, Ada took a couple of steps towards him. She froze as his eyes widened and he took a step back from her. For a moment, the smell of fear surrounded him.

“Don’t be scared. It’s me!” But her words did nothing to change his worried expression.

“He can not understand you, little sapling,” Halsin said from her right. Ada tilted her head at him questioningly.

“You and I can speak with animals.” His hand gestured from himself to her and back again. “But Gale would have to cast a spell to do that. You can understand him, but all he hears is the owlbear.”

Ada’s head turned back to Gale, who was listening to the druid’s explanation attentively. He looked so small from her new height, but he was just as handsome, his eyes shone with intelligence and wit. She could smell him, and even from this distance, there was this mysterious note to him, flowery and cool at the same time.

“Can you tell him it is still me?” Ada asked Halsin softly. “I am not… I did not want to frighten him.”

Halsin obliged, and Gale turned back to Ada, looking up at her and meeting her gaze directly. “You look… imposing.“ his voice was husky, and he swallowed audibly. “Majestic. Splendid, really.” He still looked a little unsure.

He remembers how I ripped apart the goblins. He’s not sure I am really in control. My magic is so unpredictable that it scares him.

Ada carefully lowered her arms back to the ground, crouching to make herself smaller so she was about eye-level with Gale and Halsin. She held still to assure them she was calm. Safe to be around. Ada took a deep breath.

There was a moment of silence in camp, and then Gale made a step towards Ada. Curiosity piqued in her, and she chirped, blinking at him.

He had his hand raised, his palm pointing toward her and his eyes on hers. Ada realised he was testing whether she would let him touch her. She breathed out and dipped her head, hoping he would recognise it as a nod of approval.

When his fingers touched her beak, they felt cold, but still gentle. It took Ada some willpower to keep looking at his face and not squint to follow his hand with her eyes.

Her efforts were immediately rewarded with an unguarded smile from Gale, which made her heart flutter. His hand wandered upwards and brushed the feathers on her forehead, still careful to keep his touch light. He seemed to be taking in every detail of her wildshape.

“I never knew owlbears could be this graceful,” he said softly, “You are impressive, Ada. And dare I say, the feathers really suit you.”

Ada let out a giddy chirp as a wave of comforting warmth flooded her chest. In her excitement, she forgot herself for just a moment.

Her massive body jolted toward Gale. Before she could stop herself, her large feathery head pressed into his right side affectionately. She hooted softly, trying again to share her joy over her achievement with him.

“Ada!” he yelped in surprise, but it quickly turned into laughter.

She had not heard him laugh like that before; such a free and happy sound. Warm and glittering, like sunlight reflecting on a restless surface of water. His hand was on top of her head now, lightly patting the soft and fuzzy plumage that had replaced her pink curls.

As he looked into her eyes, Ada noticed a shift in his. Recognition and appreciation had replaced his earlier reserve. Ada wished she could have reached out a hand to touch his cheek, to tell him how much it meant that he was witnessing this small triumph of hers.

Halsin cleared his throat, and in that moment, Ada was glad owlbears could not blush. She took a step back from Gale and returned to her crouch, levelling her gaze at the druid.

“You did well, Ada.” Halsin inclined his head in appreciation, and Ada mimicked his gesture. “I think it is time you got some rest. We don’t want you falling asleep during meditations in the morning.”

⋆˙⟡ ⋆˙⟡ ⋆˙⟡ ⋆˙⟡ ⋆˙⟡ ⋆˙⟡ ⋆˙⟡ ⋆˙⟡ ⋆˙⟡ ⋆˙⟡

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.

⋆˙⟡ ⋆˙⟡ ⋆˙⟡ ⋆˙⟡ ⋆˙⟡ ⋆˙⟡ ⋆˙⟡ ⋆˙⟡ ⋆˙⟡ ⋆˙⟡

They had waited at the inn until the rain had subsided and the sun was smiling down at them again. It took less then no time for Ada’s clothes to feel dry on her skin again and after the short break from it, the heat felt less punishing.

What remained from their short stay at Waukeen’s Rest, was a slightly sore throat and the smell of smoke and ash clinging to her clothes like an unwanted perfume.

Again, Wyll and Lae’zel led the group onwards. They marched mostly in silence; Wyll was very quiet and pensive. Since Lae’zel was not known for her conversation skills, they seemed like a good fit. Only occasionally did Ada hear the two exchange a few teasing remarks.

Scratch trodded ahead excitedly, dipping in and out of sight. He re-appeared from the underbrush every now and then to see if they were still there. He would let Wyll or Shadowheart scratch his head or pat his side, and excitedly bark at Karlach so she would throw a stick for him.

All the while, the dog kept well away from Lae’zel and Astarion, likely deciding that sharp teeth and scathing looks might be a dangerous combination.

Ada found herself walking beside Halsin now, with only Karlach left behind them. Gale was ahead, mostly so they could match his pace and keep an eye on him so he would not get left behind once more.

Even at some distance, Ada saw the tightness in his back, the little self-soothing motions that he tried to hide. And once more, worry and frustration were warring in her chest.

Why does he stay away from me?, Ada wondered. Why is he avoiding me? Does he feel smothered by my worry?

Embarrassment and shame made her stomach tighten and sent goosebumps across her forearms. She suddenly felt pathetic in her attempts to make him feel better. Too obvious, too desperate and too persistent, especially when the man she was concerned about was already spoken for.

What has happened to you?, she asked herself sharply. You never used to be this sappy and obsessive. You were never the swooning type.

Eventually, romantic stories had always made her sad. It was the sting of admitting to really wanting something and feeling like she could never have it.

She now had to confront, that this was not because experiencing affection or desire lay entirely out of her range of emotions, as she had long made herself believe. It was because in order to feel this giddy joy and the physical draw to another person, she had needed trust and a connection first. She’d had to let herself be seen.

And though Gale had shown her nothing but kindness and courtesy, she felt like she’d been seen, taken the measure of, and found lacking.

All Ada wanted to do was retreat back into her shell. She was too soft, too needy and too complicated to be loved. Too broken to ever really let herself be loved. And all-together to painfully embarrassed to endure the fact she had let herself hope for affection from a man who loved a goddess. Even if just for a moment.

With considerable effort, Ada forced her thoughts to return to the present. Like a drowning sailor clinging to driftwood, she looked for something else to focus on.

Halsin was walking next to her, steady and silent, his gaze determinately forward.   He had joined their group only yesterday and yet, Ada felt he fitted into their group rather well. She wanted to make him feel welcome and she decided to get to know him a little better.

But every attempt at small talk she offered earned only the most courteous nods or few-word replies. He was neither rude nor curt. Just at ease with few words being spoken.

She was just about to let the silence win when he spoke. “When you asked me to help you control your wild shape, what did you mean by that, exactly?”

So Zevlor had told him about her transformation, but not about the chaotic havoc she had wreaked on the doorstep of his grove. Ada did not know where to start and she fell silent for a moment

“Well, my wildshape… It just kind of happened, during the attack.“ Ada began haltingly. "I felt like I was having a stroke, like I had lost control over my body to the beast. It… it really hurt and I could not think clearly.“

She glanced up at him. His gaze was still forward, not on her to challenge or scrutinise.

“And then… I remember tearing through goblins. Ripping them apart. All was in a blur, like an image out of focus. And yet…What I do remember scares the shit out of me.”

Ada hesitated. "Almost as much as the memory of feeling lost, of not finding my way back to my own body.“

They walked in silence as Halsin seemed to consider what she had just shared.

“What were you feeling—right before you changed?”

Ada blinked, pulled back from the fog her brain had conjured to soothe her mind during the silence. “I—fear, mostly. I thought I was going to die. I let everyone down. And then… I lost it.”

Halsin nodded slowly. “That feels fitting. You were protecting your pack.”

That phrasing made her shiver. “It felt more like… the beast was protecting itself. And I just happened to be in the way.”

Halsin’s voice remained gentle, grounded. “What’s remarkable, Ada, is that nature responded to you. You’re not of this world, and yet the wild reached out and gave you what you needed. You really seem to be a friend of nature.”

Ada almost laughed. “I come from a city of glass and concrete. I’ve lived surrounded by electricity, not forests. The closest thing to an owlbear back home is the weird pigeon that used to scream outside my window.”

That made Halsin chuckle, a low sound that was a lot like the grumbling of a bear. When Ada did not elaborate further, Halsin sank back into his musings.

“So then how did you come back? From the wild shape, I mean.”

Ada hesitated. She remembered the vice-like grip of magic, her panic about her restraints. Then, a soft voice, warm brown eyes and kind words soothing the wild panic inside her veins.

“Gale cast a spell.” Ada managed, despite her tight throat. “He held me in place. And then he… he talked to me. Told me to ‘take off the heavy cloak.’ And he told me that I had the ability to come back.”

Halsin hummed. “The metaphor was useful, though I don’t believe that is what did the trick. It was him. He was a point of safety for you to focus on.”

Ada looked up at him, shocked at his conclusion and worried her yearning was that obvious. But Halsin wasn’t watching her, just walking beside her.

“I… yeah. I think that is accurate,” she managed to admit.

They walked a little further in silence, but it wasn’t strained anymore. Halsin had a way of listening and asking questions that felt freeing, like letting go of a burden, rather than baring herself to his judgment. It felt like something had opened between them.

“I believe I can help you,” Halsin said finally. “But there is one condition.”

That did not sound promising. Ada’s shoulders tensed, though she tried not to let it show. “What condition is that?”

“Meditate with me.”

“What?” She blinked. “But… why?”

“Because if you want to find the wildshape inside you and allow it to transform you, you must first find the shapes within your mind that already shape you.”

Ada snorted. “That is a very druid thing to say.”

He inclined his head, amused, and she added, a little petulantly, “Is there no shortcut? No ‘How to train your owlbear’? Or a guide?”

“No,” Halsin said firmly. “I’m offering you the Oakfather’s teachings. They are not magic tricks or weapon spells. They are way stones on a path to harmony with nature. Druids preserve balance and the natural order; we do not meddle in magic for the purpose of riches, knowledge or power. We are nature’s servants.”

Ada wasn’t sure she liked the idea of following down this path. While Halsin did not seem authoritarian, his convictions were strong, and his perceived role in it was set.

To her ears, it sounded like school uniforms, kneeling on hard church benches, and the nuns telling her to stop crying, because no matter what had happened, it was all part of the Lord's ineffable plan. It made her bristle, despite herself.

But, honestly, what other choice did she have? She had to learn how to control this owlbear situation, and if meditating and befriending trees was part of that, she might give it a try. And who knew, in Faerûn, this Oakfather might even reply to her.

So, after a moment of hesitation, she gave a small nod. “Alright. I’ll try.”

Halsin smiled, slow and approving. “Then tomorrow, at dawn.”

Hours had passed since they left Waukeen's Rest behind. In all the time they had travelled together, Ada had never experienced them travel in such dense silence.

Thankfully, the road was now wider and less steep, apparently a frequently used trade route across the plateau, called ‘The High Road’.

The closer they got to the pass, the sparser the vegetation around them became. Mossy green woodlands gave way to trees clinging to rock and increasingly sparse shrubs. The birds' singing and crowing were drowned out by the wind's whistling, which whipped their hair and cloaks around them.

As the light began to fade, they heard voices ahead and slowed down somewhat, intent on spotting the strangers before being spotted themselves.

A large wooden merchant's cart stood at the edge of the path. The light blue paint had faded in many places from the rain or become brittle from the sun. The cart was leaning slightly forward, resting on its wooden drawbar as if it too was tired from the road.

On a rare patch of green, two donkeys with dark brown coats were grazing. Scratch observed them with a tense posture; he seemed wary of the hoofed beasts as if he deemed them unpredictable. The donkey’s did not even look up at them, more interested in grazing than the tired group of travellers passing by.

Before the cart, an elderly dwarf sat on a low wooden crate. He was stuffing his pipe while two younger men, also dwarves, were rummaging through the cart, seemingly taking stock of their camp supplies. None of them had noticed the eight companions.

“Ker ne, wat en Theater vandage,” the old man muttered, shaking his head as he inspected the tobacco he had added to the pipe bowl.

A sudden joy took hold of Ada’s insides and made her throw caution to the wind. She hurried toward the travelling merchants. It was like hearing a lullaby in the dark. Like the rhythm of the words reached past her new tiefling bones and tugged on something far, far away.

“Ick sech’t ju beide wo’t is: to miene tiet weer allens bieter.“ The two younger man groaned in exasperation as they heard this, but the old man did not acknowledge it.

She stood before the old man as he added with a sigh, „Allens geiht den Bach runner.“

It was Ada’s chuckle, that made him look up at her. His brows immediately drew together in mistrust. “Are you mocking me, Wicht?”

‘Wicht’. A term used for a girl or young woman, though it often carried a diminutive or even dismissive tone, unlike the more affectionate Scottish word ‘lass’.

“Not at all.” Under the old man’s gaze, Ada’s joy was suddenly replaced by self-consciousness, her tail flicked nervously behind her and she saw him follow it with his eyes for a moment, before taking in her horns and her tiefling features.

Lacking any better idea, Ada decided to show rather than tell. “Ick heb düsse Spraak bloss lang nich höört.” Ada felt her throat go tight as she said it.

Behind her, she heard Karlach’s voice. “Why is Ada making that noise?”

“It’s a language, apparently…?” Shadowheart replied dryly.

Astarion sounded amused as he muttered, “I believe she’s finally snapped. Pity, really... She had promise.”

None of that really mattered to Ada, as scepticism turned to disbelief in the man’s storm grey eyes and his two companions came over from the wagon with similarly surprised expressions.

“No wonder, Wicht. It’s the trade tongue of the northern pass. Only us old goats still bother with it.”

He looked at the other two men before he continued. “My son’s understand it, but they never make an effort to actually speak it.” He looked Ada over once more. “You’ve got the cadence of a farmhand. Ain’t from round here, are you?”

She felt her companions group up behind her, watching the scene in stunned silence. “No,” she said hoarsely, blinking fast. “No, I’m not. But I grew up with that dialect.”

Ada could feel seven pairs of eyes boar into her back. Even the younger dwarves looked confused. But the old one got to his feet with surprising speed, stumping toward Ada, muttering, “Wat för’n Tied dat is… en Wicht, en Fremde, un denn schnackt de as’n Zwerg! Wo kann datt dann wien?”

“Ick heb’t von min Opa lernt. Heb immer full mit em kürt,” Ada replied. Then, switching back to a language everyone could understand, she added “I haven’t heard this language since… well, since he passed.”

Her voice trailed off. The old dwarf grunted. Then he gestured for Ada to lean down to him and perplexed, Ada followed his instructions.

“Hmph. Too tall to be a mountain girl. Too pink, too. But you’ve got the tongue. Your Opa must’ve had strange taste.”

His tone was blunt, his words direct. There was no attempt at politeness, though his gruff mannerisms weren’t intended to give offence either. It all just made her terribly homesick and Ada laughed through another lump in her throat.

“Sit with me.” He ordered, not specifying, whether that was directed only at Ada or the rest of the party as well. “We’re waiting for my niece to return. There’s a storm coming and she’s looking for shelter nearby.”

Ada did as she was told, her companions followed suit and introductions were made. The old man’s name was Hein, his son’s were called Bernat and Jorg. Together with Hilda, an experienced ranger from the northern coast, they had set out for Baldur’s Gate despite the rumours of bandits and goblins they’d heard.

“So, darling, will you tell us how you speak Dwarven, or is that one of you numerous mysteries?” Astarion regarded Ada with a curious glint in his eyes. His mock-flirtatious tone did little to cover up the genuine interest in his voice.

Ada thought for a moment. “I feel like there might be a parallel in languages between this place and home?” She was not sure of this herself, puzzling things together as she spoke. “After all we are all speaking the same language right now…”

“It’s called ‘Common’.” Gale supplied from the tree stump he was sitting on. His voice was low, his shoulders hunched, gaze fixed somewhere just beyond the firelight. He’d hardly uttered a word since they had left Waukeen’s Rest behind. And he still would not meet her gaze.

Ada could feel something was going on, under the surface and behind his temples. Something he had decided he must face alone, as if this condition of his was a sphinx that he just needed to outwit to escape his torment.

Again, Ada had to tear her attention away from Gale and back to the conversation she was involved in presently.

“Common,” Ada tried the word, marking it down as the faerûnian equivalent of ‘English’.

“So apparently, I speak Common and Dwarven, both the main dialect and the northern one,” Ada nodded to Hein and his sons.

“Then, there is Elvish.” Astarion threw in with a pensive tone. All heads turned to him, including Ada’s. He seemed as surprised about his helpfulness as they were.

“In the goblin camp, you said ‘bon appétit’. That’s a phrase many people know, even without speaking Elvish themselves, but I have a feeling it was no coincidence.”

This confirmed her suspicion. Through either some cosmic alignment or the transformation she’d undergone when she came here, she was able to find parallels between the languages from Earth in those spoken in this world.

Ada chuckled, then grinned conspiratorially at Astarion. Imitating his theatrical tone and gestures, she said, “Mon elfique est en effet assez bon, ma chéri. Mais au camp, c'était plutôt une blague sinistre.”

“I told you,” she said to the others, “I used to be a translator. Languages where my bread and—”

Ada was interrupted by the arrival of a large black raven. It settled on the rooftop of the cart and cawed loudly. Scratch barked once, but Shadowheart shushed him gently and petted his head. The dog still looked like he had misgivings about the bird, but he fell silent.

The donkeys, meanwhile, looked at the raven with mild disinterest. It was clear they had seen it before.

“Rook!” Bernat called, and at once the bird flew to him. It settled on the man’s shoulder and tucked its wings with a light rustle. “Good boy. Hilda found something, didn’t she?”

“Indeed, Master Bernat, indeed!” Rook clicked his beak excitedly. “An overhang. Save from the rain. Not far from here, among the trees. Take what you need, leave the cart. You just follow Rook.”

With that, the bird took to the air, and the three dwarves got to their feet. Bernat repeated the details to those who had not understood the raven and asked Ada and her companions if they wanted to come along.

“I know the day was hot as the Seven Hells,” Jorg said, looking up at Ada, “but in these mountains, a storm brings fresh air and freezes you to the bones. Best stay dry and have a nice fire ready when it comes.”

So they helped the three merchants pull the cart off the road to hide it from any curious passers-by. Jorg led the donkeys through the forest, guided by his brother, and Ada and her companions helped them carry their belongings and camp supplies to the rock shelter.

The rain was still falling in thick, angry sheets beyond the mouth of the overhang, thunder rumbling distantly through the mountains. But inside the rock shelter, it was warm. The fire Hein and Karlach had coaxed to life danced across the stone walls, drying boots, cloaks, and spirits.

Dinner had been luxurious, compared to what Ada was used to from the road: bread, bacon, roasted beans and potatoes from the dwarves’ storage. It was enough to loosen the tension in everyone’s shoulders. Jorg, it turned out, was a pretty good cook who insisted that the most important ingredient in any dish was patience and a large amount of butter.

Wyll and Hein were swapping travel stories with escalating bravado, much to the delight of Bernat and Jorg. Wyll seemed glad of this distraction, to show of the Blade of Frontiers again. Astarion was pretending not to listen, but his smirk betrayed otherwise.

Shadowheart had withdrawn to the edge of the firelight, methodically cleaning her armour. Karlach and Scratch had taken up their places beside her, dozing lightly while keeping her company. Though the dog had learned to keep some distance to Karlach and not nudge her with his nose or paws to get her attention, they had bonded over their shared love of bacon.

The tall tiefling had not been able to resist Scratch’s puppy eyes over dinner and had given him a strip of the crispy meat which the dog had devoured with delight.

Bernat had laughed at that and had called Scratch a ‘Frechdachs’. When Ada explained, that it meant ‘scoundrel’ or, literally, ‘cheeky badger’, Karlach bellowed a laugh that had soothed the edges of Ada’s sadness.

Halsin sat a little apart from the group, on his bedroll with his spine straightened and his eyes closed, finding some rest in meditation after the long day.

Gale, however, was nowhere near the others.

He sat alone at the edge of the cave’s mouth, beyond the light of the fire. His silhouette was dark against the flash of occasional lightning, shoulders drawn tight beneath his robes. A thin blanked from his pack was wrapped around his shoulders and he was watching the storm.

Ada’s eyes kept drifting to him. She hated how useless she felt. The way he kept pulling inward. The way she kept reaching for threads he wouldn’t let her grasp.

“Now, Wicht, will you put that lute of yours to proper use?” Hein’s voice pulled Ada back. Her thoughts had been adrift all day, she noticed, and vowed to do something about it.

Maybe some music would be the way to do it. Not because she wanted to perform, but because she needed to do something. Anything.

Ada nodded to Hein, settled on a small rock, crossed one leg over the other and settled her lute on it. She went through her mental catalogue of songs, trying to find one that would speak to her.

She thought of all that had transpired this last sennight. The miles on the road, the foes and allies they had encountered. And how the common thread that combined all of them was the desire to return to their own lives and how they collectively wished to live in significantly less interesting times.

“What would suit the occasion?” Ada mused aloud, using the theatrical words of the devil who’d come to bargain with them.

Her fingers toyed with the lute strings aimlessly for a moment, before she decided on an old classic.

None of the other’s knew this song, and yet they were drawn to it somehow. By the time the refrain came back, Halsin had opened his eyes, watching her, and the dwarves were tapping their feet along to the melody.

“I hear her voice in the mornin' hour, she calls me.

The melody reminds me of my home far away

Drivin' down the road, I get a feelin'

That I should've been home yesterday, yesterday…

Country roads, take me home

To the place I belong

West Virginia, mountain mama

Take me home, country roads.“

Her voice was soft and low; she prayed the tremor in it was not too obvious as she felt a lump form in her throat.

The homesickness and the worry pulled in tight around her heart and lungs. It cost her a lot of willpower to continue to the end of the song. She missed her apartment. Her books. Her coffee maker. She missed Leah’s voice and her advice.

When she finished, her vision was blurred by tears, and heat rose to her cheeks. She felt so raw and bruised, and Ada knew she needed someone to sit with her. Not a solution, but a friend.

And so, after she had carefully settled her lute beside her bedroll, her feet took her toward the storm-lit mouth of the cave.

“Mind if I sit with you?” Ada asked softly as she came to stand a few paces away from Gale. She hoped her voice would not startle him.

“Ada,” he said, blinking as if surfacing from somewhere far away. His expression was unreadable, his eyes reflecting a flash of lightning and not much else.

“Unless you need space to think, of course.”

He turned his head fully, and for a breath, they just looked at each other. His golden-brown eyes, usually quick with wit and warmth, held only weariness. A haunted quiet that made Ada ache.

The rain pounded outside. Gale didn’t speak, but after a moment, he nodded to let her know she was welcome.

Ada remembered the vision from the night before. His breath on her skin and his arms around her. How content she’d felt and how relaxed he’d been in her arms. The way he had looked at her, how he’d felt her joy and tenderness.

She pushed the memory down, smiling softly instead, and settled beside him.

Ada was careful to leave some space between them, both because she did not want to crowd him and because she still feared he’d find her overbearing.

They sat like that in silence for a moment. The voices from inside the cave were somewhat muffled by the volume of the rain, tapping on the rock and leaves around them like impatient fingers.

Ada sighed, and from the slight twitch in his posture, she could tell she had his attention. Emboldened by the fact that he seemed more present than before, she gathered what courage she could muster and began to speak.

“A couple of days ago… you offered me your friendship. I was glad to have it, and so, I offered you mine in return.”

Ada bit the inside of her lips as she tried to find the right words to string together like knitting stitches, but the thread wouldn't really unravel. There were so many knots and twists in her head, and she did not know where to start.

“You said, if the sky ever grew too heavy, you wanted me to know I didn’t have to face it alone.” She quoted his own words back to him, hoping they would guide her along.

Ada let out a soft, self-conscious laugh. Gale remained silent.

“I suppose that is what I came here for.” Ada ran her fingers through her curls, swiping them all to one side of her neck and fidgeting with it. Her tail lay in her lap and was as restless as her hands were.

“I—I can accept that you do not want to talk about your pain, Gale. It is none of my business. And I can understand…that you are not particularly keen on me sharing my burden with you either.” She let her head fall back against the rock behind her and let out a sigh again. It sounded pitiful, even to her own ears.

“So…” she began again, “I guess I just came over here to sit with you. So I don’t feel so desperately sad and alone right now.”

This time, Ada did nothing to hide the tears that ran down her cheeks. She just sniffled and continued biting her lips while her hands fidgeted with the end of her tail.

For a moment, he didn’t respond. Then, his hand, cold from the damp air, brushed against hers. “You’re not alone,” he said quietly. His fingers closed around hers.

Ada let out a laugh. It was a broken noise, half crying, half relieved. She turned her head to look at him.

Their eyes met, and his looked so much like they had that day in front of the grove. Steady, and curious, and piercing; but also calming enough to soothe her nerves and allow her to find herself again.

Though surrounded by darker shadows than before, Ada couldn't help but find his eyes beautiful. Even the lines between his brow and the horizontal line across his nose did not subtract from this, but rather enhanced his handsomeness, Ada decided.

You are staring at him again, Ada reminded herself. She blinked and then looked out at the rain again.

Now that she was no longer distracted by his face, she noticed she could feel the pulse in his fingers like a low electric current. The last time he had touched her hand, she had flinched away from him, surprised more by his care than the actual touch. Now she found she wanted to lean into the feeling, into him.

“Meeting the dwarves and hearing their dialect made you homesick, didn’t it?” Gale asked after another silence.

“Yes, well…” Ada sighed, “until now, I was too busy trying to stay alive to miss home. But the longer I am here, and the more complicated this tadpole situation gets… the more I realise it will be a while until I get the chance to look for a way home.”

His fingers gave a soft squeeze as if to reassure her he was still listening.

“I never thought I’d miss Frankfurt that much,” Ada continued, chuckling mirthlessly, “it’s by no means a pretty city. It’s messy and loud and way too crowded. But that’s where… all my friends live.” She paused, then looked over at Gale. “Well, most of them, anyway.”

He gave her a faint smile, the first flicker of the Gale who’d shown her how to channel the Weave the night before. Ada found the corners of her mouth twitching in response.

Then, his hand left hers, and for a heartbeat she thought he’d retreat from her again. That he had seen the affection in her eyes and been scared off by it.

But he merely lifted the blanket from his left shoulder and extended his arm in her direction. It was an invitation to share. Ada did not hesitate.

She scooted closer to him, their hips touching, and he put his arm around her so she was covered by the scratchy woollen fabric as well. His hand lingered on her shoulder for a moment before it wandered down her back to her waist.

The blanket felt warm on her shoulders, and his arm around her made warmth bloom in her chest. Slowly, Ada tilted her head until her cheek came to rest against his shoulder.

He did not move away; his fingers just twitched slightly at her waist.

“Do you ever miss Waterdeep?” Ada asked him after another pause.

Gale made an amused humming sound in response, before saying, “I spent so much time on my own lately, I think a bit of fresh air was needed. Though I could have done without the tadpole infection.”

His tone turned sombre as he added, “After I was… afflicted with my condition, I locked myself in my tower for an entire year. I was inconsolable, wallowing in self-pity. I’d given up on myself, but Tara never did. It was her encouragement, her research, that led me to my treatment. Once we knew that magically-infused items were the key, she went out to find them for me. She saved my life.”

His voice was hoarse, and Ada could feel how hard it was for him to talk about his condition in such a vulnerable way. Yet, she was grateful for his trust and for his letting her in.

“That is one of the things you and she have in common.” Gale continued, “There is a tenacity to both of you, a stubborn determination to go on, even in the face of quite dire odds.”

Ada snorted. He had some nerve calling her stubborn after deciding to suffer like a martyr all day. Gale ignored it.

“Both you and Tara have done more for me than I have any right to ask. And I am grateful beyond words, which, given my extensive vocabulary, is quite the achievement.”

He paused again, his thumb moved over the fabric of Ada’s shirt, and it made her heart stutter. Ada moved her hand to cover his knee, a reassurance that she was with him and listening.

“I feel my condition draining my power; the pain is clouding my senses. When the boots did not have the expected effect today, I was scared. Desperately so, Ada. The pain is getting worse, and I have no remedy for this. I—” He broke off, before adding. “I just wish I could speak to another wizard, someone studied in magic. Maybe they could find another remedy, like Tara did.”

There was a longer pause then, in which both of them watched the storm shake the world outside their shelter and the bolts of lightning illuminating the night sky.

“I wish she were here for me to make a formal introduction, but I would never ask her to undertake such a journey. She is safer at home.” After a pause, he added, “She would love you. So long as you don’t rub her belly. She hates it when anyone does that.”

Ada chuckled. It was so funny to hear him speak about his closest friend, who was, as far as Ada could tell, both very much a cat and very much not a cat. Intelligent enough to do her own research and yet headstrong and self-willed as any feline.

Gale looked at her then, apparently mistaking her amusement for ridicule or offence.  “I assure you, were you to meet Tara, you would see the comparison for the flattery it is.” When he saw her smiling up at him, he blushed and understood.

Gale cleared his throat. “Suffice it to say, I think rather a lot of you. And there aren’t many on this plane who I’d give such high praise.”

Ada let her thumb brush over his knee and smiled. “Thank you, Gale,” Ada said, settling against his shoulder once more. “You’re good for me, you know? I feel like… a boulder has been lifted off my chest.”

“The feeling is mutual,” Gale murmured, “I am grateful for your company, Ada.”

With that, they fell into a comfortable silence.

Ada felt her eyelids struggling with gravity, now that some of her inner turmoil was soothed and she was comfortable beside Gale. She found he still smelled good, like warm wood, and a well-read book, and something else. A mixture of mint and flowers, something she could not quite put her finger on.

Ada mused over the mystery of his smell until, at last, she fell asleep.

⋆˙⟡ ⋆˙⟡ ⋆˙⟡ ⋆˙⟡ ⋆˙⟡ ⋆˙⟡ ⋆˙⟡ ⋆˙⟡ ⋆˙⟡ ⋆˙⟡

Translations: Ker ne, wat en Theater vandage. -- Oh man, what a fuss today.

Ick sech’t ju beide wo’t is: to miene tiet weer allens bieter. -- I’ll tell you both how it is: back in my day, everything was better.

Allens geiht den Bach runner. -- Everything’s going downhill.

Wat för’n Tied dat is… en Wicht, en Fremde, un denn schnackt de as’n Zwerg! Wo kann datt dann wien? -- What strange times these are. A girl, a stranger and then she talks like a proper dwarf! How can that be?

Ick heb’t von min Opa lernt. Heb immer full mit em kürt -- I learned it from my Opa (grandpa). Used to talk to him a lot.

Mon elfique est en effet assez bon, ma chéri. Mais au camp, c'était plutôt une blague sinistre. -- My elvish is indeed pretty good, darling. But at the camp, it was just a sinister joke.

⋆˙⟡ ⋆˙⟡ ⋆˙⟡ ⋆˙⟡ ⋆˙⟡ ⋆˙⟡ ⋆˙⟡ ⋆˙⟡ ⋆˙⟡ ⋆˙⟡