"And then what?" she bursts out, knowing that her words are going to hurt but somehow unable to stop herself from saying them. "We'll just... go back to the farm? Plant turnips this year, beets next year? Pretend I never ran out on you to join the Grey Wardens?" Then she gestures helplessly, like her next words are just as implausible as all the rest: "Get married?"
She bites her lip and looks away, to stare at a bunch of dried elfroot waiting to be packaged up and sent to the Inquisition soldiers fighting in the field. The thought of going back to her family's farm outside Ansburg, to just herd sheep and tend crops, to forget all about her lessons with Nell and Clans Ashara and Dahlasanor, and what she'd shared with Sina makes her dizzy, and angry, if she'll let herself admit it. She's been to Llomerryn and Rivain, seen sea serpents and a corrupted kraken with her own eyes, helped a strange rifter elf create explosives out of powder made of every conceivable colour--
No, she can't fight yet, but if she can just stay here, if she can just keep learning--
Fern folds her skinny arms around her chest and keeps her eyes averted. Maybe she's ashamed of the words, ashamed of the uncharitable thoughts about the life her family lives on their farm, but she won't take them back. She can't.
"I'm an apostate," she says flatly at last. "I can't go back."
no subject
"And then what?" she bursts out, knowing that her words are going to hurt but somehow unable to stop herself from saying them. "We'll just... go back to the farm? Plant turnips this year, beets next year? Pretend I never ran out on you to join the Grey Wardens?" Then she gestures helplessly, like her next words are just as implausible as all the rest: "Get married?"
She bites her lip and looks away, to stare at a bunch of dried elfroot waiting to be packaged up and sent to the Inquisition soldiers fighting in the field. The thought of going back to her family's farm outside Ansburg, to just herd sheep and tend crops, to forget all about her lessons with Nell and Clans Ashara and Dahlasanor, and what she'd shared with Sina makes her dizzy, and angry, if she'll let herself admit it. She's been to Llomerryn and Rivain, seen sea serpents and a corrupted kraken with her own eyes, helped a strange rifter elf create explosives out of powder made of every conceivable colour--
No, she can't fight yet, but if she can just stay here, if she can just keep learning--
Fern folds her skinny arms around her chest and keeps her eyes averted. Maybe she's ashamed of the words, ashamed of the uncharitable thoughts about the life her family lives on their farm, but she won't take them back. She can't.
"I'm an apostate," she says flatly at last. "I can't go back."