↪ PLOTTED STARTER ╱ @worldevoured.
A SENSE OF UNEASE HAS BEEN BUBBLING TO AN APEX within her chest from the moment she’d regained consciousness inside the solitary hut in the heart of the Korcari Wilds and how it rises to twist into something horribly tangible . It tastes acrid && vile , a bitter bile burning something wicked on her tongue . Her memories of Highever and Ostagar are starved hounds && they chew at the fraying fringes of her reality without mercy , tongues hanging like silken ties ; like nooses hanging from trees .
It’s the unmistakably real mabari at her feet that finally takes hold of her mind and pulls her from thoughts of those she had left behind on the battlefield , wet nose nudging a silent prompt against the back of her hand , and clarity awakens in her gaze akin to the lighting of a candle as delicate fingers glide over the top of his head with a familiar persistence in response . Morrigan’s words are still prominent in Leta’s memory ( the darkspawn had won , the abandoned were massacred ) , but perhaps most rousing had been the sentiment that Alistair was alive . Ultimately , it is this that spurs her from inaction , practiced hands donning steel armour so that she is prepared to leave the temporary sanctuary that the four walls have provided . She is not yet the last of the Grey Wardens .
❝ See ?? ❞ Morrigan’s mother calls as Leta steps out into the bright , late - morning sunlight , as she stands on a small hillock near the bank of a shallow creek not ten yards from her hut . The remainder of her sentiment , however , is lost to Leta’s ears : beyond her , pacing right at the edge of the bank , is ❝ Alistair . ❞