She startles some when she hears footsteps in the foliage behind her, sitting up onto her elbows and twisting to look back over her shoulder. It was reckless to just doze off like this in the middle of the city, Maker only knew what sort of nutcases could come snooping through here at any time of day. It's on the cusp of that thought that she spots Sina, realizes that Sina is smiling at her, and immediately turns a shade of flustered pink.
"Um, hello," she says dumbly, then hastily reaches up to yank twigs and leaves out of her hair.
When the girl blushes, Sina can't help but do it as well, ducking her head slightly to look back down at the berries before she moves around to the other side of the bush. Here her shard is clearly visible, glowing angrily through the front of her tunic, obviously the same material as what rests in Fern's hand.
"Hello," she says pleasantly, "you can go back to sleep. Nothing will harm you here."
She's still tugging stray twigs out of the tangle of hair around her shoulders when Sina starts to pick her way around the small thicket, and Fern twists a little where she's sitting to watch her. Naturally, her eyes are drawn to the ethereal green glow emanating from her chest, which so closely resembles the one in her hand.
"Oh--you have one, too," she interjects, and holds up her hand as evidence of just what she's talking about. She frowns a little. "I thought we all had them in our hands."
"Oh," Sina sighs, a sympathetic sound, when she sees Fern's mark. "...I..." Everyone else has them in their hands. Perhaps the rifts were more forceful when they first opened, when the conclave first exploded, when she was standing there on a hill and it exploded open beside her. "...I got lucky, I suppose," she says with a tired smile.
Knowing how badly her own hand aches from time to time, she can imagine that Sina truthfully feels anything but lucky. Her frown deepens into a sad furrow, and for a few seconds she sits there in the grass, completely speechless.
Then: "I'm Fern," she says, a hasty introduction before the silence can grow too awkward. She gets to her feet, wobbling a little when she steps on a loose bit of earth rather than moss, and dusts grass off of her tunic and leggings. She takes a few steps closer to Sina, eyes drawn now to her vallaslin. "--sorry," she mumbles, "for staring, I mean, I've just--I've never met a Dalish elf before." This added with another shy smile, that tinge of pink coming to her cheeks again.
"Fern," Sina repeats with a smile, pleased by the theme of the name. She doesn't flinch when the girl stares at her, and instead touches her own forehead to acknowledge it.
"Ghilan'nain," Sina explains, "a dying woman turned into a halla by Andruil, so she could live eternal." She blushes a little too, perhaps just mirroring Fern's. "The only Creator who was once among the People. She represents navigation, finding a way ahead. Perhaps even in impossible circumstances."
A pause, and Sina realizes she's being a nerd. "--Siuona," she says quickly, "First of Clan Dahlaanor. Most call me Sina. Andaran atish'an."
Fern grew up hearing very little Elvish from her parents, save for the common terms like 'shem' and 'hahren,' and no tales about the Creators. The story causes some tightness to knot in her chest, like she's homesick suddenly for some place she's never even been, or thought of much at all, before now.
"Siuona. First of Clan Dahlasanor. Most call me Sina. Andaran atish'an."
She gives a nervous little smile and toys with the split ends of one loose lock of hair. "Nice to meet you," she replies, then looks to Sina's vallaslin again. Thoughtlessly, she compliments, "They're very pretty," then immediately realizes what she's said and squeezes her eyes shut. "--Um, the tattoos, I mean, they're.." She trails off into awkward silence and takes a sudden interest in her shoes. Foot, mouth, etc.
Coming from a human, it might be a bit offensive. But other elves, especially city elves, taking an interest in the Dalish only makes Sina happier. "Thank you," she says carefully, wanting to say 'ma serannas' like she would with a peer, but not wanting to come on too strong. "Are you from Kirkwall?"
"Oh, no," Fern replies with a little shake of her head, and gestures in a vaguely 'away' direction. "I came here from Ansburg. I was born outside Denerim though, in Ferelden. My folks brought me and my brothers and sisters up to the Free Marches during the Blight."
She shrugs, a decidedly 'as you do' kind of gesture, then looks down at her palm again. That green glow makes her incredibly uncomfortable if she looks at it for too long, and so she tugs her glove back on to cover it up. "I was coming here to join the Grey Wardens," she adds, though her tone of voice is anything but confident or sure of her ambitions.
"Ansburg," Sina repeats, trying to picture where that is. "To the east?" she confirms, then tilts her head as Fern continues. "Why?" she asks, and, realizing that might sound rude, qualifies it: "I don't know much about them, apart from Anders. They seem a troubled lot."
"Why?" Fern repeats and looks startled by the question, like it hadn't occurred to her that anyone might hear of her goal and think of it as anything other than a logical and normal ambition for a person to have. She furrows her brows a little in thought, looking aside, then back to Sina again. One can almost see the stars coming into her eyes and smile. "Well--they saved the world from the Blight, didn't they? They saved Ferelden, and Denerim--my gran still lives there, she says she saw the whole thing."
(A bit of an exaggeration on the part of Granny Doirnáin, who'd been hunkered down in the back of her laundry during the whole wretched business.)
Gradually, though, Fern's smile fades with some worry. "What's troubled about them?" she asks.
None of this is news to Sina, per se, but she's so detached from everything the Wardens have done, they barely register on her radar for Important Things. She shrugs one shoulder, looking a little abashed. "I don't know," she admits, "they don't interact much with the rest of the Inquisition. It's hard to know them, and... I'm not certain they... want to be known."
"It's hard to know them, and... I'm not certain they... want to be known."
The last of Fern's smile fades at this, and she looks down at the foliage under her boots for a moment, once again fidgeting her fingers together. That doesn't bode well for her ambition to join them, does it. "Inessa seems nice," she volunteers, trying to catch Sina's eye again. She has nice eyes, Fern thinks.
Sina's eyes are caught easily, and her smile returns. "She is," she confirms, "I'm a bit afraid of Garahel, but at least he seems to know it." She'll never understand the Fereldan obsession with dogs: why let something that similar to wolves into your home, especially when it's actually bigger than a wolf and more comfortable with people? Shem'len.
"Oh, he's just a big softie," Fern all but gushes, her smile growing quite warm; she's Fereldan, too, she's allowed to be completely obsessed with dogs. "And yes, he's so smart! I used to have a couple of collies back on my parents' farm, for herding sheep and such, but they weren't nearly so smart as a mabari." Hard to miss the look of longing in her eyes; Maker, but she wants one. ):
She seems to notice that she's on the cusp of Getting Weird about dogs, though, and reins herself in. Shyly looking down at her shoes, she admits, "Anyway... Even if they've got their troubles--the Wardens, I mean--I still want to try to join them. I can fight," she adds, though admits uncomfortably a second later, "sort of."
Dogs. Who knows. Sina smiles anyway, not having any idea what collies are, but able to assume they are along the same subject lines. It's then that Fern mentions the Wardens again, and joining them, and Sina can't help but look a bit concerned. "I'm sure you can," she says with a reassuring smile, "...I've... never been able to, not for the Inquisition." Lightly touching her glowing sternum, Sina hopes that's explanation in itself. "But even if... you don't, there are other ways to stay useful. Like gardening." Her smile grows, a bit of pink rising in her cheeks. Heyyyy join the garden staff
Fern looks to the green glow embedded in Sina's chest and winces again; yes, she understands, and it shows clearly in her expressive eyes. She also notices that smile, the blush, and finds herself smiling back again. Shyly ducking her head, she reaches up a hand to rub the back of her neck.
"Um," she starts, the noise halfway to a nervous giggle. "I can garden... And I know some spells," she adds quickly, "for keeping the frost at bay, if that's needed. Maybe not so much here as in Ferelden, our winters were bitter cold."
What a way to ramble, good job, Fern. Blushing, she asks, "You like gardening?"
This merits a giggle, as much in empathy as in Sina's own flustered amusement. Fern has a sweet smile, and such emotive eyes, and it's difficult not to be taken by them. "I'm the head gardener," Sina laughs, amused by the fact that she never bothered to say, and that most people still don't know without being told. "I came to check the fruits here, to make sure they're growing as intended." Here in the crazy magic forest.
"You're the gardener for the whole city, too?" Fern asks, looking both surprised and a bit awed; she never thought that a city would give an elf like them that kind of responsibility. It's the wrong conclusion to draw, but not exactly an illogical one; the Chantry grounds are in Hightown, which is about as far as one can get from the Inquisition's headquarters in the Gallows.
Then, deciding to summon up her courage and just Go For It, "Do you need help? With the gardening? I mean--can I help?" This said with another small smile that probably looks more hopeful than she intends it to.
Sina's blush returns; she's never been able to handle any kind of flattery, or... you know, people looking at her that way. She's always been so matter-of-fact about her roles in the clan and the Inquisition, it's hard to see anything exciting about them.
She looks surprised by Fern's question, if only because she can't imagine why that would take so long to ask. "Oh-- always," she replies, "the more people willing to help, the better."
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"Um, hello," she says dumbly, then hastily reaches up to yank twigs and leaves out of her hair.
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"Hello," she says pleasantly, "you can go back to sleep. Nothing will harm you here."
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"Oh--you have one, too," she interjects, and holds up her hand as evidence of just what she's talking about. She frowns a little. "I thought we all had them in our hands."
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"...I got lucky, I suppose," she says with a tired smile.
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Then: "I'm Fern," she says, a hasty introduction before the silence can grow too awkward. She gets to her feet, wobbling a little when she steps on a loose bit of earth rather than moss, and dusts grass off of her tunic and leggings. She takes a few steps closer to Sina, eyes drawn now to her vallaslin. "--sorry," she mumbles, "for staring, I mean, I've just--I've never met a Dalish elf before." This added with another shy smile, that tinge of pink coming to her cheeks again.
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"Ghilan'nain," Sina explains, "a dying woman turned into a halla by Andruil, so she could live eternal." She blushes a little too, perhaps just mirroring Fern's. "The only Creator who was once among the People. She represents navigation, finding a way ahead. Perhaps even in impossible circumstances."
A pause, and Sina realizes she's being a nerd. "--Siuona," she says quickly, "First of Clan Dahlaanor. Most call me Sina. Andaran atish'an."
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"Siuona. First of Clan Dahlasanor. Most call me Sina. Andaran atish'an."
She gives a nervous little smile and toys with the split ends of one loose lock of hair. "Nice to meet you," she replies, then looks to Sina's vallaslin again. Thoughtlessly, she compliments, "They're very pretty," then immediately realizes what she's said and squeezes her eyes shut. "--Um, the tattoos, I mean, they're.." She trails off into awkward silence and takes a sudden interest in her shoes. Foot, mouth, etc.
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"Are you from Kirkwall?"
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She shrugs, a decidedly 'as you do' kind of gesture, then looks down at her palm again. That green glow makes her incredibly uncomfortable if she looks at it for too long, and so she tugs her glove back on to cover it up. "I was coming here to join the Grey Wardens," she adds, though her tone of voice is anything but confident or sure of her ambitions.
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"Why?" she asks, and, realizing that might sound rude, qualifies it: "I don't know much about them, apart from Anders. They seem a troubled lot."
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(A bit of an exaggeration on the part of Granny Doirnáin, who'd been hunkered down in the back of her laundry during the whole wretched business.)
Gradually, though, Fern's smile fades with some worry. "What's troubled about them?" she asks.
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The last of Fern's smile fades at this, and she looks down at the foliage under her boots for a moment, once again fidgeting her fingers together. That doesn't bode well for her ambition to join them, does it. "Inessa seems nice," she volunteers, trying to catch Sina's eye again. She has nice eyes, Fern thinks.
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Shem'len.
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She seems to notice that she's on the cusp of Getting Weird about dogs, though, and reins herself in. Shyly looking down at her shoes, she admits, "Anyway... Even if they've got their troubles--the Wardens, I mean--I still want to try to join them. I can fight," she adds, though admits uncomfortably a second later, "sort of."
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Sina smiles anyway, not having any idea what collies are, but able to assume they are along the same subject lines. It's then that Fern mentions the Wardens again, and joining them, and Sina can't help but look a bit concerned.
"I'm sure you can," she says with a reassuring smile, "...I've... never been able to, not for the Inquisition." Lightly touching her glowing sternum, Sina hopes that's explanation in itself. "But even if... you don't, there are other ways to stay useful. Like gardening." Her smile grows, a bit of pink rising in her cheeks. Heyyyy join the garden staff
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"Um," she starts, the noise halfway to a nervous giggle. "I can garden... And I know some spells," she adds quickly, "for keeping the frost at bay, if that's needed. Maybe not so much here as in Ferelden, our winters were bitter cold."
What a way to ramble, good job, Fern. Blushing, she asks, "You like gardening?"
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"I'm the head gardener," Sina laughs, amused by the fact that she never bothered to say, and that most people still don't know without being told. "I came to check the fruits here, to make sure they're growing as intended." Here in the crazy magic forest.
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Then, deciding to summon up her courage and just Go For It, "Do you need help? With the gardening? I mean--can I help?" This said with another small smile that probably looks more hopeful than she intends it to.
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She looks surprised by Fern's question, if only because she can't imagine why that would take so long to ask. "Oh-- always," she replies, "the more people willing to help, the better."