Maybe, were someone else here, it wouldn’t be so vicious a bout: Fenris left to weather the worst of a pack snapping at his heels, Astarion measuring whether he should simply leave, long before things even begin to look bleak—

It would be easy. The opportunity’s there.

There’s no answer this time.

Fenris may know now whose rescue he came to, but there’s only empty air where that man once stood. He’s fled. He’s gone.



—until something at the edge of view gives way with a crack of split bone and spilt blood, pale curls peeking out from behind the shoulder of a sister now in dire need of an intact throat.

Thank you for the distraction.

“—Well. That should even the odds a little.”