Adarun had walked more in the past eight days than she had in all her time on the surface.
That was probably an exaggeration, but she wasn’t going to let a simple thing like the truth stop her. And, exaggeration or not, she’d certainly never walked so much in a single go. She’d trekked down the Frostbacks once before, yes, but she’d made judicious use of caravans and mounts once she’d reached the valleys of Ferelden. Ancestor’s tits, she could never have imagined just how vast the surface was. Sometimes it seemed like the world stretched on forever.
But eight straight days of walking was beginning to take its toll. Not that Adarun would dream of voicing this—sod it, she was a Marlen (even if she didn’t technically exist anymore), and she’d rather cut out her tongue than complain aloud. She kept her discomfort sealed behind lips pulled into a tight smile.
She’d never known a pleasure like kicking off her boots before though, so there was that. Adarun took her victories where she could.
It was dawn when the patrol crested the hills of the Hinterlands. Pale rose and gold light bloomed across neatly manicured farms, fog lingering with the chill of night. A stream bubbled merrily, carving switchbacks down to the valley below. Four years on the surface and sometimes she couldn’t believe her eyes. The Hinterlands were impossibly green, with massive trees straining towards the sky, as if their roots were tethering them from simply floating away.
“Maker’s breath,” someone whispered. Of course, they weren’t talking about the view. Adarun looked closer.
“Sodding hell,” she swore.
Rifts. And beyond that, smoke. Gone was the peaceful, verdant paradise; now all she could see was just how broken the region was. Even Haven hadn’t seemed quite so dire; she’d arrived a few weeks after the explosion at the Conclave, after the Herald had quieted the gaping maw in the sky. She’d seen rifts on her journey, certainly, and even had the pleasure of slitting a few demonic throats, but it was nothing like this.
“There’s so many,” a wiry elf, Orielle, murmured from somewhere behind her.
For the first time, Adarun truly understood just how dire things were. The surface was falling to pieces out here.
Their Lead Scout was quick to take charge. Adarun had been pleasantly surprised to find another dwarf among their ranks, let alone one leading the pack. Of course, this Inquisition seemed far more concerned with fixing things than getting hung up about race. Nothing like the world falling apart to bring people together, she supposed.
Harding found an expanse of rock to stretch out a map, gloved fingers directing attention to its features. Clearly, she knew the area, peppering assignments with useful observations. Their ranks thinned, handfuls of scouts finding each other and slipping off to conquer the fields and valleys. All this fuss to find one woman; maybe the Revered Mother pissed lyrium.
“Adarun,” Harding nodded in her direction. Adarun pulled her thoughts away from the edges of blasphemy. “Kivalien, Daltyn, Orielle—you’ll be pushing towards the Crossroads. Swing south with Ashwell’s unit—go east via the bridge,” her finger pressed against the map, before dragging east through the valleys. “Stay sharp.”
Adarun traced the route once more, committing it to memory. With a nod, she stepped back. A hand clapped on her shoulder and she turned her gaze up to the dark haired elf. Adarun’s lips quirked into a lopsided grin; they’d fallen into step with each other the past few days, swapping stories to whittle away the hours.
“I can’t get rid of you, can I?” Adarun quipped dryly. Orielle flashed a fiendish grin, stretching lanky limbs and taking a few swaggering steps towards the path.
“I’m like an adorable fungus,” she laughed, cocking her head to one side.
“Adorable,” Adarun repeated tonelessly. Scoffing, she lengthened her strides to catch up, throwing a pale glance about to land on their fellow scouts. She jerked her head in the universal gesture of ‘let’s go’. Touching the twin blades at her back (which she might have stolen borrowed from her family’s vault on her way topside—but, surely, Paragon Marlen would have wanted her well-armed) in reassurance, she turned her gaze towards the wild.