Moments

Moment of Choice - Part 3

"I..." It wasn't something simple to explain. The tongue slipped back so easily to me, not just speaking elvhen but sharing the shorthand commands, old references, and half formed thoughts as speech. Not even conversing with another dalish was the same as working with a member of your old hunting party. It was like slipping on an old glove, perhaps one I'd outgrown, but with a nostalgic fit.

Struggling to come up with an explanation, it was Rhodri who spun around to tell him, "She already did." Cullen's teeth ground so loud, the noise carried above the crying winds.

"You're gonna head all the way up there?" Varric asked, patting Bianca and pointing her towards the cliffs ringing above our heads. Creators only knew how the Marcher born dwarf could stand the unimpeded winds ruffling his chest hair. Did he ever button that thing?

"No, we have other resources," I said. Rhodri grinned from my careful words. "We will not be far. When we give the signal, drive the ram towards that hollow beside the stand of trees."

Varric patted the butt of Bianca a few more times, but accepted his fate of walking through more snow in the name of research. It was Cullen who fiddled with the hilt of his sword, the eyes burning a warmth deep inside me.

"Be careful," he said, that brown butter voice dropping to a whisper. I smiled imperceptibly, and closed my eyes. Cullen rose back up, his voice in full range, "Inquisitor." As if tacking that on was enough. But Rhodri either didn't catch on or did not care; he already moved towards the copse, parting the snows faster than before.

Shrugging once more to my men, I chased after him, still noting the ram tracks in the snow. A few steps behind me, I heard Varric scoff. "Did we just get left behind for being too fat?"

"I am not," Cullen said indignant.

"Are you sure about that, Curly? You seem to be licking up plates of those butter treats Ruffles gets for you."

I missed Cullen's response, his no doubt infuriated growl drifting away upon the wind. The mountain was in no mood to play nice today, the sun blanketed behind an angry nest of clouds, the wind howling through the rocks. It pierced up to a shattering whine the nearer we drew, my fingers working away from the warm wad of bear fur across my midsection up to my head to protect my ears. Rhodri was no better prepared for this, his proud stance stumbling in the shifting snow. His boots slipped upon the sheets of ice below, careening his face towards the ground. He pinwheeled his arms, trying to maintain a balance. It was a shame Varric missed it all. Still, letting ones hunting partner fall flat on their ass was poor manners, so I reached a hand out to anchor him. He grabbed tight, twisting to face me until his body slammed into my side. But I was moored to the ground, as unbendable as the mountain. Rhodri only lightly bounced against me.

In the manic paddling, his cowl slid off, revealing the green vallaslin etched across his forehead and down his cheeks. They radiated like a fade rift against the white pallor the cold pulled to his face. Perhaps that was why we stayed in forests and out of the snow. Hard to remain in camouflage when nature spotlighted your face for you.

Releasing my hand, he slicked back his hair and tried to compose himself by adjusting that stupid shoulder harness. "Not even a thank you?" I said.

His eyes tried to bore into mine, but I'd seen their tricks a hundred times before and thickened the callous to them. "Yes, thank you. Does this mean I am indebted to the Inquisition?"

"First one's free," I said.

"How quaint," he jerked his head towards the left where the snow indented near his own flailing. "Fresh tracks?"