#kasaam

14

A boy comes up to her at the harvest fair and asks for a dance, one of the sons of a farmer on neighbouring lands. She takes his hand and lets him lead her a halting few rounds around the square. It was nice, she supposed after the fact, but certainly nothing to get fussed over like her mother did.

20

She sees the cranes dancing at the edge of the marsh, their wings flicking back and forth, their necks bobbing up and down. The sound of their cries fills the air, harsher and sweeter than any music. An inexplicable sadness fills the farmer's daughter, and she has to look away.

30

Eyes bright and cheeks flushed with drink, she swirls and sways beside her kadan. Laughing, the Vaarad matches her pace, step to step with nary a signal. This, then, Latan thinks, is what it is to really dance.

70

"When my eyes close//I will open them to the spray of the ocean//You will come adorned in the festival robes//And without//in the field of the soul//two cranes will dance." The scribe closes the book gently, returning it to the shelf with warmth blooming in her heart. So do the words of her forebears live on.

Kasaam

14

'Magic exists to serve man, never to rule over him.' Magic this. Magic that. For all that talk in the Chant, the girl never hears a single sentence that approaches 'Mages should not be dicks and step all over the backs of elves'. Whatever scant love the Maker has for man, he has even less for the elves. Sadist.

20

The storm sends her running to the nearest roofed building. It's dark with a warm musty smell to it, and several pens. Once her eyes become accustomed to the dark, she sees several large, dark forms resting in pens. One of them turns to her, its chains clinking, and growls a warning. She takes a step closer.

30

The bow rattles furiously in Sorcha's hand, but she never lets it fall, keeps it trained between the bear's beady eyes. When it roars, she screams back, cursing fit to turn the Fade black. The beast pins its ears, snuffles indignantly and turns tail. Only then does Branwen start crying, the spell broken, and her mother picks her up and rocks her back and forth, mumbling tearful little words of Dalish into her ears.

70

"You would have liked him, mamae," Branwen muses, crossing her legs under the great tree. "Big, strong guy. Dark hair like Father's. We're getting married just after the next arlath'vhen." The branches rustled in the wind, a friendly, loving sound, and the girl took it to be as good as a blessing.

Ashran

14

Is it too much to ask for a month of peace, a week, a day? Issa curls up pup-like in the long grass, and breathes deep of the jungle flowers. One day, it's going to be different--one day, Seheron will belong to people again, and not shapeless powers.

20

She seeks out the Tevene mage that took abba, and knocks the eyes out of his skull. Eyes that saw nothing but beasts. On that one day, and for every year after, Issa wears no flowers in her hair.

30

"It's that day of the year, isn't it?" Latan asks quietly, a half-smile on her lips. "I thought maybe you'd like some company tonight." Ashran nods, wordless, her white hair unadorned, and pours the tea.

70