Chapter Text
I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet
When far away an interrupted cry
Came over houses from another street,
But not to call me back or say good-bye;
And further still at an unearthly height,
One luminary clock against the sky
Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right.
I have been one acquainted with the night .
-- Robert Frost, Acquainted with the Night
The jarring crash of flesh against wood echoed through the subtle dawn that broke within the outskirts of the Planasene Forest. Leaves rustled and branches snapped with a resounding rattle, harsh and brittle, like the clatter of bone shattering beneath a stone. Samara recoiled inwardly-- far too acquainted with that sound for her liking --but it did not show. Her countenance remained passive-- placid --her mind channeled towards her task. Pale eyes narrowed, shining like a predator's in the half-light while her slim head cocked westward, listening intently. Her fingers twitched and tapped at the drawstring of her ironbark longbow, the only indication of her restlessness. She otherwise remained unmoving, silent and still, merely a shadow among shadows.
The forest loved her secrets, and Samara loved this forest. Darkness was a luxury; a cloak, a balm. She paid the price with many sleepless nights. She paid it gladly. To see without being seen... it was a comforting though. Peaceful. Serene.
The brilliant shimmer of her eyes sparked with flecks of gold and chartreuse, burning through the early morning haze. She prized her far sight. It served her well, even when all else failed. Her gaze flicked tightly across the forest as though tracking motion rather than scanning for it; her ears pricked with every movement, her pupils dilating as her vision snapped in the direction of the source. The dawn chorus of birdsong had just begun, every flittering creature warring for its voice to be heard first above all others. She reluctantly tuned out their clamoring mellifluence as the shuffling grew close. There. A doe burst free of the grasping underbrush with a single majestic spring, loping at full speed with a lightness that contradicted the coiled muscles bustling within her limbs. Tension rippled across her stately form, and panic blazed within normally gentle eyes. Another crash followed moments later, like ripples in a pond. A massive grizzled wolf leapt from the woods behind, hot on the heels of the fleeing deer. Samara took a low breath and began to draw her bow. The wolf charged from the north at the doe's flank, head low and lips drawn into a snarl, ready to snap at her hind legs. Where the doe was all wiry thinness and lithe speed, the wolf was low, stocky, and extremely well-muscled. There was speed and grace, to be sure, but also a dogged persistence that spoke of power; endurance, and a center of gravity that made for tight maneuvering through the brush.
The attack drove the deer southward, towards Samara, who was silently crouched upon a low-hanging bough. She took her time with the draw. She was in no hurry. When her bow was pulled taut with a tension that would make the unaccustomed tremble, Samara spoke soberly, her tone soft with reverence. "We honor your sacrifice," she whispered, the barest breath escaping her lungs. She uttered the words like a prayer, solemn and grave, yet filled with the warmth of love. When her lips twisted minutely into a frown, she allowed her eyes to close for but a moment in sorrow and thanks. When she opened them again, it was to the baritone of the doe's warning snort, reverberating through the trees. She hesitated. Just a beat, but it was enough-- and for this she was thankful. At their mother's insistence, two spotted fawns darted from their hiding place in the Salal, rushing ahead of their mother on shaky legs. "Fenedhis lasa! Revas!" she shouted quickly, knuckles white upon the bow that now hung at her side, "Hold!" At her words the great wolf froze in place, eyes boring into her own, head tilted at an inquisitive angle. He shifted restlessly in place, a whine breaking softly from his throat. "Garas, ma'vhenan," she spoke through a half-hearted grin, "It seems there will be no meat for us this day." With only a muffled whoosh like the sound of falling leaves in Autumn, Samara dropped from her perch. Revas trotted eagerly to her side, his tongue lolling crookedly from his mouth, panting from the exertion of his coursing. "Abelas, Revas," she hummed through a sigh, her fingers falling to cart absently through his ruffled fur. "Perhaps the clan will be willing to share."
Only for the sake of her faithful companion would Samara entertain such a notion, and even then she did so with a sense of unease. She was not well liked among the Dalish of Clan Lavellan. She was not particularly well liked anywhere. As a hunter of the People, Samara ought to be respected among her peers. Perhaps she simply had none amongst which to be respected. But then, she was a hunter in name only: a technicality that afforded her a modicum of safety and belonging, but never respect. Not with her... history. If it were not for the quiet guidance and protection of Keeper Deshanna, Samara would lack even that hollow comfort. Revas, conversely, was far better liked by the clan. A beast such as he, it was said, brought honor to them all; recalling to mind the glory of elder days, of Halamshiral and the great Emerald Knights ere the fall. Samara could not disagree. It was a shame, they thought, only that he had fallen to the hands of some unworthy flat ear. On that point, she could disagree. If she could earn the regard of such a creature, was she not worthy of their own? Of their bitten tongues, at the very least. Alas, even the barest logic was in short supply these days. With a sigh, she cut off her bleak thoughts. It had grown too late in the morning for them to hunt successfully; they were both of them exhausted, and far more effective in the wee hours. Too many fruitless efforts had been spent that night. With a twinge of guilt haunting her steps, Samara turned 'round, making for the clan's current encampment.