Adrenaline and Her Liars

"By the Dread Wolf!" was the screech ringing out over the battle. Blades clashed against one another, spells splicing through land and foe. Adrenaline coursed through her veins and the stuttering of breath through her lungs, she couldn't help the near cynical smile contorting her features, fire surging from her palms. " Fen Ma ghilana mir din'an!" (wolf guide me unto death). The stench of charred corpse, screams preluding death and unanswered pleas of mercy, horrible. But the adrenaline, it was worth it. Lowering her staff, smearing blood across her cheekbones with the back of her hand, the sign of an enemy getting too close for comfort. Rose-tinged iris's took in the sight of once clean robes, now decorated with the gruesome palate of battle. Filthy, sticky and lukewarm. The adrenaline, it was worth it.

"Inquisitor?"

"Hm?" the Dalish women owning the title glanced over at the Tevinter mage, staring at her with a look of uncertainty "Dorian?"

"Are you alright?" his expression matched those of the dwarf and the soon to be Warden.

"Of course" she shrugged, allowing a squeamish look to cover up her recent expression "I am just feeling quite nasty and wish to bath" That lie seemed to suffice. The accepting looks exchanged between the three males alerted her it was accepted. She had always had a thing for being clean, so it appeared quite ordinary. "We are close to the Upper Lake Camp and the sun is beginning to sink, maybe we should head back? I really want a bath, even before I eat" another lie, normally not one, but now it was. Liar. The slight rolling burn of guilt deep in her belly, her discomfort, she held no love for false words and confirmations. Bathing, eating, sitting around a campfire with her closet comrades, warm on wine, it sounded miserable. Maybe later. But right now, right now she wanted another fight. Discerning from weary faces, and heavy shoulders she was alone in the sentiment. But the small thrill at the moment, they believed her, she was getting away with secret feelings, she would regret it certainly, later, not now but later. She was liar, unworthy of their trust, but for now. The adrenaline was worth it. Liar.

"Well lets get a move on then shall we?" Dorian smiled, she mirrored the gesture. Reflections weren't lies, just not whole truths. Chatter was far and in-between, it would only return with fully bellies and wineskins, as was tradition. Frankly, she was alright with that, with silence she was able to focus on the low hum inside her breast, keeping her heart just ever so slightly elevated. Enter the camp. Nod to the salutes of soldiers, check in with the captain, leave her staff by her bedroll, watch her companions head for the cook. Ignore the concerned look of the cook. It was simple, it was routine.

"I am going to bath before I eat" she announced "I won't be able to swallow, all gross like this" she shuddered. Liar. Gathering up her washing bag and a second set of clothing she smiled for Varric's sake and began to trudge toward the lake. Ignore the concerned look of the cook, that was the annoying one. She knew that she had lost weight since the battle with Corephyus. You feed a broken heart, or you starve it. She was certain a medic had once said a similar thing about fevers, but for a heart it seemed to be a similar principal.
Eating was social, it usually brought about a sense of happiness, of fullness.

She didn't want to be happy or full. She wanted to be angry and empty. It reminded her less. Nearing the lake, items dropping without care to soggy ground, a fire run dropped into the water, robes piling around her feet. White limb after limb, lowering herself into the water, murmurs of appreciation. Reaching back, long, magic calloused fingers groped for a small bar of Orleisian soap, rolling it to suds at her hips, only to be tossed back, fingers moving to scrub at shoulder length locks. Crickets sang, and frogs gaffed at her ritual. Cat tails and whistle reeds hummed, setting ripples dancing across the water, waving goodbye to the sun and hello to the moon. It was music in its own sense, her own tunes were better. Unthinking, a familiar song buzzed at her lips, continuing her bath.