open: mabari crawl.

[cozen]

WHO: Open (with a closed starter)
WHAT: A team takes dog sleds into Ferelden's snowy southern reaches to procure an antidote to poison. So: a Balto knock-off and a game-canon body heat meme.
WHEN: Haring 9:46 (pre-dream plot, so no need to take it into account)
WHERE: Southern Ferelden
NOTES: OOC post. There's a closed starter for people who signed up to talk to the herbalist, but otherwise this is open to anyone, make-your-own-adventure style.

The team's journey takes them from Winter's Breath, in the southern foothills of the Frostback Mountains, to the even-more-southern foothills, just north of where the map they've been given fades into ambiguity and a few depictions of enormous, cold-hardy beasts that may or may not truly exist. There's a smaller village there—Talon Point, named for a jagged rock formation in the surrounding mountains, under the protection of the Bann of Winter's Breath—that serves as a waypoint for traders and travelers to and from Orlais during the few months a year the mountains are traversable and the rest of the year as a conduit for trade with the Avvar and Chasind.

Other than the map, their guides are the dogs themselves. The lead dog for each sled team comes from a locally-bred line of particularly fluffy mabari. They're clever and communicative—albeit a bit less affectionate and more stubborn with these strangers than with their currently-absent masters—and used to making this journey. They know the way to Talon Point; it's a cold, snowy journey that requires making camp in the woods at least once, but otherwise, it's a straightforward trip.

The local accommodations are not much to speak of. With the inn shut up for the winter, the only place anyone can offer them to sleep is a barn. But it does provide a place to come back to, between bouts of splitting up to seek out the herbalist, who lives to the west and further up the mountains, or fanning out to the east to gather eshimeric. It's a reddish lichen that can be found growing in small quantities in the cracks and crevices of rocks, if they aren't covered in snow or if the snow is knocked away. Scraping together enough to allow for one dose and one do-over will take several days of dedicated searching.

The landscape they're searching is inhospitable, to put it lightly: deep canyons with narrow paths carved into their walls just asking for someone to nearly fall off the edge, pockets of dense woods that are difficult to traverse and easy to get lost in, expanses of barren land with no shelter from the wind at all, and frozen rivers and lakes which, of course, may not fully support the weight of someone trying to cross them. The sparse wildlife is mostly typical of the region, but now and then there's something—maybe a wolf, maybe a rabbit—that's unusually aggressive and still showing lingering signs of the blight.

Comments

[radicans]

A gasp and spluttering cough are his answer, and for a moment Maud moves like she might have missed that direction, arms rising, body twisting in Ellis's grip. But another cough and a heaving breath comes instead, and then she nods, "Alright. I'm alright."

She gets an arm up enough to grip the edge of the ice, testing if the lip will hold her at least enough to keep her head out of the water and let her float here safe from the current dragging her away again. "The wolves?" she asks.

[heorte]

Good: Maud is lucid, hacks up water and draws breath and latches onto the edge. Nothing gives way beneath her.

Bad: The possibility of wolves.

"I think I killed the first one," Ellis tells her, which is a fair assumption based on the state of the creature. "There are two more, but that might hold them off."

And he can't leave Maud in the water much longer. It'll do her harm, and they aren't so close to Talon Point and the barn that Ellis can assume they can take further risks.

"I'm going to pull you out, onto the ice," he tells her. "Then we'll get my pack and circle around, away from them, to go back the way we came."

Search called on account of tainted wildlife and the threat of hypothermia.

[radicans]

None definitely dead, one only possibly dead, and two definitely alive but maybe gone is not the ideal configuration of wolves in the present circumstances. But Maud can hardly blame Ellis for prioritizing her continued ability to breathe. She nods again at this plan, and reaches up to get a grip on his sleeve just above the elbow, bare fingers a useful development for the moment.

Even soaking wet she's not weight enough to trouble him, especially as the sodden overcoat that's been dragging her down finally slips free of its tangle around a boot and sinks without her. The uncertainty of the ice still makes it awkward, and her skirts are liable to drench his pant legs before they're both safe on more solid footing again.

[heorte]

A distant, useless consideration: a shame to lose that coat.

But they'd had to have taken it off her anyway. Ellis doesn't give the thought anymore space in his mind as he helps Maud maneuver herself first flat across the ice and then, slowly towards the far shore.

Still, the wolves lurk watchfully near the scrubby treeline.

"Those are blighted," Ellis tells her, because she deserves to know even as miserable as she is in this moment. As he speaks, he's drawing the thick blanket from his pack to swath around her shoulders without waiting for permission. "I don't think they'll make a second run at us, but there's a chance, so you'll go ahead of me when we cross back over."

Hopefully without either of them going back through the ice. Maybe their odds are better now that disaster has so thoroughly struck.

"We need to get you back more than I need to clear the wolves out of this place."

It's always great when a plan hinges 75% on hypotheticals and luck, but.

[radicans]

It was a good coat, if not a good flotation device. Maud accepts the replacement blanket gratefully, getting a grip on the edges and pulling it tight around her. 'Blighted' turns her head sharply toward where the wolves were when last she saw them, the brush on the shore they'd emerged from, and then back to Ellis.

"Are you sure?" she asks, shifting on her feet and re-settling the edge of the blanket up over her head before tugging it down again and instead taking her braid--still mostly intact--in both hands and wringing water out of it onto the snow. Her jaw is set and when she shakes her head it's a tight little jerk. "Don't endanger others on my account. Neglect your duty. I've caused enough trouble as it is."

[heorte]

Maud means to do him a kindness, but it catches him like a blow. Has he not been neglecting his duty for more than a year now? His hand lifts to her elbow as he shakes his head at the suggestion.

"Maud, you fell through the ice. I'm getting you back to the barn before I do anything else."

And if they came back, they can assemble a bigger group to clear out the wolves on the second sweep in search of the plant in question.

"I'd rather you keep all your fingers and toes," he tells her. "Now go on. It'll be alright."

[radicans]

Maud frowns, curling fingers into the blanket as she pulls it back around her head. But she nods, conceding the wisdom of his decision, even if it does make her feel like even more of a burden. Losing toes won't make her less of one.

She precedes him back across the ice, picking the path even more carefully than she had on first arrival, and now with a wary eye on the brush, too. A circuitous path is woven around the thinner patches, but eventually they reach the shore without further mishap. And for their effort are rewarded with the hike back to the barn! Not so terribly long, maybe, and at least there is the path they forged on the way here to save them from most of the slogging through shin-deep snow. But long enough, with the wind sharp-edged and the sky clouding. By the end, Maud's clothes are frozen stiff, and hair too, but she makes the whole trip in silence, keeping pace if only just.

[heorte]

It is lucky they hadn't ranged further into the wilderness. Whether or not the exertion of the trek back to the barn is of help to Maud or not isn't discussed, though Ellis' hand strays often to her elbow or back, instinctively seeking to steady or provide some small comfort to her.

The barn is warm, at least. Ellis draws the heavy doors closed behind them with a solid bang before turning in the same motion to grab a horse blanket to toss to her.

"I'll stoke up the fire," he offers, because what else can he be of use for in this moment? Certainly not assisting with the frozen clothes. "Do you need me to get anything out of the hayloft for you?"

Her pack, perhaps. They've more or less taken over the tack room, which will afford her some privacy.

Ellis should have been more careful with her. That consideration is very present in his mind now that the most immediate danger is passed.

[radicans]

She catches the blanket, or more accurately it lands across her shoulder and she holds it there. For a moment she just stands, almost taken aback by the change in temperature and the relief of arrival. The hike has helped, in staving off any truly serious problem, but dragging sodden wool around has also sapped much of her remaining energy. But gears thaw and turn after a moment and she nods. "My pack." Easily found beside where she sleeps. "Thank you."

When he returns she is caught muttering a curse as cold-cramped fingers struggle with frozen wool laces on the side of her overdress. The horse blanket has been neatly set aside, the other draped over a chair to dry. Her face is red and wet but not with tears--her hair has begun to melt. Her whole posture is tense as a clenched fist, but a shiver wracks through her anyway, impossible to stop. "Do you have a knife?" she asks, voice tight, angry.

[heorte]

There are things that would help, if they were staying in an inn instead of barn. Ellis has enough time to consider it with some level of consternation as he ascends into the hay loft and returns with Maude's pack slung over one shoulder. He lets it fall to the floor by her feet rather than hand it to her directly, brought up slightly short by her struggle.

"I do," Ellis answers, though he hesitates over the idea of it for a long moment before he offers, "You could let me have a go at it. My fingers are faring better than yours."

She's lost a coat already. It seems a shame for her to lose more of her wardrobe in the wake of this disaster of an outing.

[radicans]

When her gaze snaps to Ellis at the question it's not affront or scandal in her face but a fierce determination, the words I can do it as sharp in the air as if she'd said it aloud and clear she very nearly did. She is fuming, too mortified by the error that got them here to register impropriety.

But that's dumb, especially with how she's shivering too hard to hold a knife steady anyway, and after a moment she gives a quick nod. Lips press flat in resignation, before a hard exhale softens it a little. She turns, and holds arms out of the way, attempting to keep still. "Please. Thank you."

[heorte]

The meaning is understood. Ellis recognizes the sentiment, and lets it pass between them. Nothing he can say will make the situation easier for her. It is a hard thing, to charge someone else with your care.

But regardless, he is exceedingly gentle as he steps into her space and takes up the sodden lacing. Unbidden, he recalls the woman she'd traveled with in Ghislain but thinks better of asking if Maude would have preferred she manage the business of woolen laces frozen through instead of Ellis.

"I'm sorry," Ellis tells her quietly, after a moment's work. "I shouldn't have sent you across that way. It was a bad risk."

He's had plenty of time to consider all the ways Maude might have died because of what happened. An apology doesn't seem like enough, but it's what he has for her at the moment, as little sprinkles of ice fall between his fingers as he works the lacing free of each eye.

[radicans]

Her maid hasn't come along on this journey, as easy to make stay behind as it was difficult to convince her that Maud really was going in the first place. That's half the frustration of all this--finally on her own, finally without the suffocating supervision of the last few years, and look what she's made of it. She's stewing on that as Ellis works on stubborn laces, teeth sawn into lower lip and arms crossed tight against her chest with hands tucked beneath.

"You were being attacked by Blighted wolves," she replies, emphasis nearly turning blight from fact to curse, "I knew it was too soft. I should have gone further around. It was a bad decision."

[heorte]

"You ran when I told you to run."

In other circumstances, it would have unequivocally been the right thing to do. It might still have been, regardless of all this misery and ice. Better soaked to the bone and half-frozen than tainted. Ellis had fewer fixes for that.

"You lost your coat in the midst of all this," he continues, quieter as the last of the laces come loose, freeing the sodden over-layer. "We'll have to do something about that tomorrow."

His hand is gentle at her shoulder.

"Turn round. I'll do the other side."

[radicans]

Whatever reply Maud might have made (perhaps that the 'to safety' was surely implied in his command) is delayed by the faint chatter of teeth and jaw clamped tight to prevent it continuing. Her outer layer has begun to melt in earnest, water dripping from her hem to puddle around their feet before soaking into the barn's dirt floor, but the cold is still set deep in her bones and the slide of melting ice down her back doesn't help the shivering a bit. She nods, and turns, again holding arms up out of his way. "A waste of a good coat," she agrees. "Maybe one of the villagers will have an old one I can buy."

"It was so heavy," she says after a moment more, tone almost thoughtful, drifting away from the immediacy of anger, "And then it caught on something, or caught the current? I'm not sure. It was dragging me. I couldn't get free of it." She thinks, suddenly, to look down at-- "Your hand." The instinctive reach touches the back of his wrist, safely shy of bloodied knuckles. "We'll have to see to that."

[heorte]

"Don't fret," Ellis says, both hands gone momentarily still beneath her fingers. He looks at his hand as if just remembering what he'd done to it. "It looks worse than it is."

Whether or not he's cracked some bones is hard to discern. The cold has fended off the worst of the swelling, though as he cautiously closes his fingers into a fist a little flare of pain sparks up in answer. Maud's fingers are cool against his skin, a reminder of what they're meant to be working towards, and that his hands are no part of it.

"And it'll heal," he presses, taking up the knotted ends of lacing to begin picking them apart. "I'm not bothered."

[radicans]

Maud's silent for a moment, touch light but remaining, mind back beneath the ice. There hadn't really been time or thought enough to understand just what he'd done beneath the rise of incipient panic and the rush of relief overwhelming it, the shame that followed. But she can see it now--hear it, the heavy thump of his fist against the ice above her something to aim for--the splotch and smear of blood from these knuckles, the final crack and the pale hand thrust through it, the jerk of resistance pulling her back against the current, just in time.

She shivers and nods, drawing her hand away to let him get back to the task. "Still," she says, swallowing to get her voice back to a normal volume, "We should see to it once I've changed. I can do one useful thing today."

[heorte]

That's a sentiment he recognizes, even if Ellis finds it misplaced. But he knows what a useless thing it is to protest. Logic isn't much of a balm, so he leaves it be, eyeing the ruin of his hand as he picks the last few sodden loops of lacing free.

"Let's worry about getting you warm first," Ellis tells her. The ache in his hand has been dulled by the cold, and the prickling of returning warmth isn't enough to trouble him.

Though at this point, with the outer layering of her dress falling loose, Ellis clears his throat and takes a step back.

"Is that manageable for you now?"

[radicans]

Maud's focus snaps firmly back into place at the shift of fabric and clearing of throat, a hand shifting to hold the freed sides of her dress together. It's not as if there aren't plenty of layers beneath; they're wet too but there's no danger of Ellis seeing anything, even were he the sort to look. It's only instinctive manners that make her nod brisk, her agreement a little clipped.

"Yes, thank you. I can take it from here." It sounds like she's dismissing a servant, and she'd redden again with that realization if she weren't already flushed with the cold and coming out of it.

Ten minutes is enough to see her changed and her wet things hung from a makeshift drying rack, the smell of wet wool beginning to mingle with woodsmoke and straw in the tackroom air. Fewer layers, but supplemented by the blanket he'd supplied wrapped about her shoulders as she slides the door to the tack room open and rejoins Ellis by the now-blazing fire.

[heorte]

In the interim, Ellis stokes the fire, digs up another blanket that he leaves draped over the seat closest to the warmth. He's fared better than Maud in a lot of ways; the frozen sleeve of his coat is already thawed to dampness, and he'd swapped tunic and quilted gambeson for the spare dry things he'd kept in his own pack.

"There'll be stew, in a bit," he promises, because Ellis can cook one thing, jokes about Fereldans aside. "But you should sit and warm yourself in the meantime."

Just in case. Just because Ellis isn't sure she's out of the woods completely and they've already worn out their welcome with the local healer, more or less. He's wrapped a loose length of linen around his knuckles, but left the hand mostly alone. Something is fractured, he thinks, but he's hoping once the swelling has ebbed that guess will be wrong.

[radicans]

With the exception of wet hair, now loose about her shoulders to dry, it now looks like nothing has happened at all. But the cold lingers, something bone deep Maud's not entirely sure isn't in her mind. She takes the seat nearest the fire and nods at the news of stew, drawing the spare blanket around her legs.

"Thank you," she says, and if her smile is a little strained, it's not the gratitude she's struggling with. "I'm sorry if I was short before. My anger is for myself alone. You've been very kind." An absurdly lukewarm statement. "In addition to saving my life, of course," she adds. "I do hope your hand isn't broken. I have some salve that should help sooth the swelling, if you'll permit me."

[heorte]

In answer, Ellis crosses to sit by her, settling on the floor without ceremony. She doesn't need to be moving, even if she rearranges the blankets around herself.

"Drink this first," he tells her, offering her a dented mug. "It's tea. Nothing too fancy, but it'll do you good."

Something to tide her over, until the stew is ready. He gingerly flexes his hand, not yet reaching to remove the wrapping. Maud has never given him the impression of being squeamish, but she is still pale with cold and seems slightly dwarfed by the blankets she's wrapped in. He balks at asking anything more of her than to just sit and warm herself.

"I've carried that all the way from Amaranthine. Knew it'd come in handy," he explains. "Don't mention I'd been keeping it aside through the shortage last year, if you would."

Wysteria and Fitz can never know.

[radicans]

A brow rises as she accepts the mug, the aroma confirming that it is actual tea, and not one of the many substitutes that have remained more common even in the wake of the shortage. She curls cool hands around it and smiles, a little wider than before. "Thank you. Your secret is safe with me."

For a moment she just holds the mug so that the steam warms her face, letting it dissipate before hazarding a sip. She'll savor it in silence for a few minutes, letting its heat and the fire's do their work. Her attention seems to have drifted, gaze fixed distantly through the fire, so it may seem rather sudden when she says,

"I suppose as a Warden you must have come near to dying many times."

[heorte]

There was no real pressure for either of them to speak. Ellis would have happily sat quietly with her while she drank tea and shook off the chill. Her face is still too pale for his liking. Maybe he'd have pressed her to sit closer to the fire, had she not spoken first.

"Aye, I have."

His tone carefully even over the words. It's hard to tell with Maud, sometimes, whether she's fishing for a story or not. She hadn't struck him as someone keen to hear the more gruesome aspects of his work, even if Ellis were interested in speaking about them. Between his fingers, he slowly, clumsily twists a few stray pieces of hay lifted from the floor, watching the fire for a moment before looking up at her.

"This is new for you, isn't it? Being in danger so regularly?"

[radicans]

"Yes. Being in danger at all. Even in Ghislain, it was always a good distance off. With a great many people like you between it and me." She smiles quickly, wryly, and then stops, drinks. Both hands remain wrapped around the mug, fingers knit together against the warm tin, held in her lap.

She leaves thoughts steeping another minute or two before she shakes her head. "It seems as if I ought to feel either more or less than I do. Not-- ambivalent about having almost drowned. I don't know. Is that strange?"