GrimweaverArt

~*~ After washing up and changing into more comfortable attire, most of the Wardens’ party gathered with the Dalish around the campfire for supper– this time it was a feast none have been able to enjoy since the first day their hunters were attacked by werewolves and corrupted wildlife. For an excruciating long time, they could catch only what dwelt within the areas that skirted their encampment, and it was only enough to keep everyone off the edge of starvation – small rodents, birds, and fish. But after the curse was lifted, the hunters were able to venture into the abundant depths of the forest and bring back enough deer and boar to feed them for weeks. It was a good start of steady healing, but it would take a little more than “Hoof Medley” stew to lift spirits grounded by what had spoken of death and suffering beyond just the werewolf curse, rising from the soil of the

~*~ A flood of cool hush filled the grand audience chamber of the Brecilian Ruins. Zathrian and The Lady of the Forest had perished when the curse was lifted, since both of their life forces were bound to it. The humans that were formally the remaining werewolves had no wish to linger, reasonably fearful of Dalish hunters set to be on their heals for revenge. While most of the members of their group combed the area for valuables, Aithne stayed in the chamber to reflect quietly, as she stared down at the pool of water that surrounded the base of a grand oak tree, watching the leaves that had dropped onto its surface dance with the currents of gentle ripples. Did I make the right choice? She asked the Maker in her heart, hoping that He would let her know in some way that she had. Urging Zathrian to end the curse seemed to be the moral choice, but would it cost them the