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]

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?"

[heorte]

"No," he answers, though he glances up at her in brief scrutiny before shaking his head to punctuate the denial.

"There was a time, years ago, I'd gotten hit hard enough that it caved in my armor, broke some of my ribs. The bone," Ellis pauses over this detail, clearly deciding it's unnecessary as he lifts a hand to tap at his chest. "Here, was where it hit me. Hurlocks carry bigger weapons than I do."

It's an easy story to tell. He'd traded part of it away when he'd first arrived because it was straightforward, unremarkable, and everyone survived it.

"The Senior Warden had to drag me out. We were lucky we'd traveled with a healer, or else the wound would have killed me. But it only managed to wreck my breastplate."

It's a ways away from falling through ice. But still, the end point—

"But I didn't feel any particular way about it then. It happened too fast. If you had time to think about it then, it might have been different."

i thought it had been like 1 month which was bad enough but i see it's 2!! so feel free to ignore

[radicans]

She winces at his description of the blow, neither squeamish nor pitying, just a twist of the mouth before she lifts her mug again. She listens with steady attention, and sits with that idea for a moment before she nods agreement. "Yes, perhaps that's it. There was only a moment or two--. And then you were there."

The fire flickers, and she nudges at the end of a log with a toe, inching it slightly deeper into the coals.

"When you think back on that now, it doesn't bother you? To know how near you came?" Her mouth almost immediately curls into a smile both self-deprecating and apologetic, and she waves off any need to answer with a flap of fingers. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to sound dramatic. I will simply have to get used to such things."

gently inches towards putting a bow onto this

[heorte]

"It's not dramatic," Ellis reassures her.

Yes, he had been bothered. But not for the reasons Maud might have assumed. Ellis doesn't volunteer the answer regardless.

"We'll work on avoiding you repeating the experience," is maybe the better option, in his opinion. Maud may very well be right, and her work with Riftwatch might require her to get used to near-death or at least, some level of danger, but still.

He clears his throat, straightening in his seat.

"Are you hungry?"