#m;morrigan

“are you certain the warden knows what he’s doing,” the witch asks, brow arched and arms crossed as she watches alistair talk to some guard to assess the current situation of the town. not that she can blame the other for choosing not to be leader of their little group -- even she can admit following the ideas of a child sounds ridiculous. but morrigan does question whether there’s anything not ridiculous about the whole thing. a sigh. “t’is almost painful, watching him fumble about.”

the witch hums. she cannot disagree with that statement; mankind is impossibly arrogant, intent on bending the world to their will regardless of consequences. and there will be consequences -- there always are. oh, but of course, humans will merely push those off onto others, claiming no part of the problem. “one should always assume the inevitable.”

morrigan glances sideways at the warden, but otherwise displays little reaction. “it would be foolish to assume that had ever been an option.” the witch is not saying that this is how the other was expecting things to end up; she understands that a hope for a normalcy is only that. reality is far more grim. but there seems little point in trying to make light of a tragedy. the war has exacted exhausting devastation across the lands, and what people may have been prior has been buried in the rubble of the villages they pass through. “we mustn’t let is slow us down,” she offers now, something of a softness to her tone if one listened hard enough. perhaps they are not who they were before, but that does not mean they are worse.

the witch merely raises a brow, arms crossed lightly about her chest from where she is watching the situation unfold, offering no help. “clearly.” she would act surprised if she were, but the fact of the matter is that it seems nobody she encounters ever makes good decisions which would prevent such things from occurring. “and, pray tell, did you at least accomplish any goals? or are we, yet again, nowhere.”

"you must find it before the others do."

morrigan stands with her arms crossed, leaning as casually as she can muster against a tree near the campfire. she’s not scowling, exactly, but she’s close to it, exhaustion melding with irritation and settling into a low anger. “yes, so you have.” for some time now, too. even the witch is capable of acknowledging the foul nature of the situation, but she hardly thinks throwing a fit about it is going to solve anything. “but by all means, continue. i am certain something will shout back eventually.” 

she turns back towards the camp, letting a small sigh pass her lips, a notable release of tension seeping from her shoulders. morrigan will not outwardly show her concern over her missing party member, but she does pause, saying over her shoulder, “please do not wander off again, orion. i would be... displeased if something happened to you.”

“on the contrary,” the witch starts, arms crossed in a casual display of apathy. “i find bees to be remarkable creatures, and if you display a respect towards them, they, in turn, will not bother you.” is she standing up for nature? no, not really. bees are not precisely the shape she likes to take. but living in the woods nearly all her life gave morrigan a proper understanding of the minds of those that inhabit the trees, and as such, she sees little reasoning in avoiding what isn’t truly a threat.