At moments like this, Morrigan truly misses the Wilds. No other form knew it so well, leaping and bounding wherever she pleased, following the trails that the Chasind had left or paddling through stagnant water until the algal blooms stained her fur green to the neck to explore the ruins slowly reclaimed year after year. One day they would be forgotten entirely. And the way she could howl in that place, the ragged forlorn echo to disturb the still night air...

The glade however is too small for that, still too close to Skyhold that carrying on in that way would attract attention for all that there are stories told about her, as well as what she can do. There's a strange sense of envy she feels now, that Sam is experiencing all this for the first time. The smell of damp earth, squirrels, rabbits, mice, rats, their quiet scurrying and little calls, the creak of the branches, each rustle of the wind in the branches or through the grass. Birdsong that sounds so much more clear than it ever has. How sharp the world seems. And then she braces herself, lets the tension gather in her muscles and runs, the wind streaming through her pelt, heart thundering in her chest.