Lathal

Fences Make Good Neighbors

|| @lathal

There was a poem, though the demon spawn couldn't recall where he read it or who wrote it, that fences made good neighbors. Normally, he would agree. Raserei treasured his isolation, it was easier safer, for everyone.

Yet, here he was pulling some fresh baked sourdough from his oven to bring over to his neighbor. While she wasn't completely new...well she had only lived there for a few months, and he wasn't overly fond of it. He still didn't want to be a bad neighbor; for whatever reason.

Today, her goal was to tackle her book problem. She'd loved reading and had been collecting books since she was a teenager, but the bare bones furnishing the apartment came with didn't include any shelves. She'd ordered some online, but she'd underestimated how heavy the boxes would be. She'd dragged the first one a short ways, but it was slow and she wasn't sure how she'd handle the stairs.

But where was that rift? They'd climbed a ridge to get a better view of the area, but could see nothing from there. There was no other way but down, towards the forest. He looked to his companions for confirmation before he started to walk down. They'd made clear they would follow him, because he was the Herald, but Gatt wasn't made to lead. The Qun had made that clear.

Distracted by the mark as he were, the shout made him jump halfway out of his skin. The greatsword was in his hands before he knew it, the massive blade held with surprising ease in front of him, and every muscle in his body was tense and ready for battle. All he'd seen for days were mages and templars too wrapped up in their war to tell friend from foe, and bandits rushing into any area they'd left behind. The occasional squadron of soldiers had been friendly enough, or at least not outright hostile. But he didn't trust any soldiers. He didn't trust the Inquisition's people, or his own companions. He was an arrow waiting to be fired, a gaatlok cannon ready to explode.

Then, his brain registered what he'd heard: a warning, not a threat.

Finally he spotted her, a little further down the slope. In a heartbeat his posture relaxed, the sword fell to his side. Beside him it was Cassandra's turn to tense, Varric who's hand moved towards his weapon. To them a Dalish elf meant trouble. And they could be, Gatt knew, but it was a kind of trouble he could deal with. With the mark on his hand he'd been thrust into a conflict that wasn't his; strange magic and cutthroat politics and wars he didn't understand. He could handle some angry people, if that was what the Dalish were.

The human woman made her nervous. Intellectually, she knew that most shemlen probably weren't out to hurt her, but past experiences made her wary, especially because she was heavily armored. Elves were usually friendly, though, and the fact that she was traveling with one was a good sign. The fact that he'd approached her before the human was also reassuring. Sure, he had drawn his weapon initially, but she had startled him, and she had her own hand on her bow, since they were so close to the rift.

"Someone else should be coming around sunset, but we're close enough to camp that I can run and get backup, if necessary," Iveani explained, trying not to let her anxiety show.