She had nothing to do with this bear hunting. All she had wanted was to exchange the last of her money for bread in order to feed the children hanging around her - two toddlers, one older boy and two infants in her arms. A whole tamassran cell of imekari.

Maybe they thought she was wearing bear fur, even though it was druffalo. Maybe it was because she was qunari. Maybe it was just a mistake, if the look in one of the human women's face was anything to go by.

It was cold and clumped, stinking of iron and staining her white hair. There was blood all over her clothes, blood all over the imekari, blood all over the fresh stitches in her lips. She's somewhere between horrified and enraged, the children wailing in a chorus.

Trying to keep a cool face in front of the little ones, fire still spark from her fingers, unfettered and undisciplined as she wipes the crimson stains from her eyes. Her voice is garbled behind the stitches, but she's pissed. Very pissed.

Pissed enough to set people on fire. Sorry about that.