Her mother had literally kicked her out and Morrigan was determined to let everyone know just how very cross she was about it. What did she care for their quest? The first night they made camp, she made sure to put up her tent as far away from theirs as physically possible. She had her own fire, kept to herself. But of course she watched. The two Wardens sat by their fire, warmed their hands against the chill of the Wilds, sheltered from the rain. How the Cousland woman could possible bear this feeble-minded grunt she called friend was entirely beyond Morrigan. But tastes differed, apparently. Perhaps she just enjoyed the obvious adoration the man held for her. Morrigan would not associate with them. She would take them to Lothering and then she would return to the Wilds, where she belonged. This was their battle, she did not want any part in it.
When she heard someone approach in the shadows, she took her staff and made it flare up with purple lightning.
“Who goes there?” she asked harshly. Out of the shadows stepped the slobbery, hairy creature the Cousland woman had brought with them. No, not Alistair. She assumed this hairy beast was significantly smarter than the man. It watched her attentively, head tilted to the side, curiously inspected the purple sparks she had created.
Morrigan put down the staff and rolled her eyes.
“What do you seek, flee-infested mutt?” she grumbled.
The dog did not seem irritated or insulted by her cold shoulder. Instead, it came closer, sat down right next to her and – with no invitation whatsoever – put its head on her lap. She gasped angrily but when she wanted to cast the creature away with lightning, it looked up at her with a pitiful whine. She hesitated, then sighed and reluctantly put a hand behind its ear.
“Well fine then. Just this once…” she mumbled. The dog barked happily as she began stroking its head. She watched the flames of her little bonfire, absentmindedly rubbing the dogs back. “You are not afraid of me then?” The dog barked affirmatively. She could not help but smirk. “Why would you, fierce war hound, bred for battle, not afraid of a little lightning. You don’t believe their silly tales, do you? I’m not going to turn you into a toad am I? Alistair, maybe…” she said. “You know… I always wanted a pet dog. Flemeth wouldn’t have it. She did not approve of domesticating wild things. I just… did not wish to be alone anymore…”
The dog looked up, put a paw on her shoulder and before she could protest, he had liked her across the face. She screamed.
“Ugh! What was that supposed to be?!” she yelled upset.
“It means he likes you.”
Morrigan looked up at the Cousland woman who had approached them, unseen. The dog jumped off Morrigan’s lap to join its mistress, sat down by her feet. Cousland nodded to the fire. “You can join us, you know.”
“No thanks, I’ll pass.”
“I thought you did not want to be alone,” Cousland said.
“I am fine, I have no interest to join your merry gathering,” Morrigan insisted through gritted teeth, her eyes lit up by magic.
“Suit yourself,” Cousland said with a shrug and turned to leave. She noticed her faithful war hound stayed behind by the fire with the young witch and a smile crept to her lips. Morrigan would not be alone. Not if she had a say in it.
From that day until the bitter end, the brave mabari would guard Morrigan’s camp every night.
Re: Morrigan/Dog
When she heard someone approach in the shadows, she took her staff and made it flare up with purple lightning.
“Who goes there?” she asked harshly. Out of the shadows stepped the slobbery, hairy creature the Cousland woman had brought with them. No, not Alistair. She assumed this hairy beast was significantly smarter than the man. It watched her attentively, head tilted to the side, curiously inspected the purple sparks she had created.
Morrigan put down the staff and rolled her eyes.
“What do you seek, flee-infested mutt?” she grumbled.
The dog did not seem irritated or insulted by her cold shoulder. Instead, it came closer, sat down right next to her and – with no invitation whatsoever – put its head on her lap. She gasped angrily but when she wanted to cast the creature away with lightning, it looked up at her with a pitiful whine. She hesitated, then sighed and reluctantly put a hand behind its ear.
“Well fine then. Just this once…” she mumbled. The dog barked happily as she began stroking its head. She watched the flames of her little bonfire, absentmindedly rubbing the dogs back. “You are not afraid of me then?”
The dog barked affirmatively. She could not help but smirk. “Why would you, fierce war hound, bred for battle, not afraid of a little lightning. You don’t believe their silly tales, do you? I’m not going to turn you into a toad am I? Alistair, maybe…” she said. “You know… I always wanted a pet dog. Flemeth wouldn’t have it. She did not approve of domesticating wild things. I just… did not wish to be alone anymore…”
The dog looked up, put a paw on her shoulder and before she could protest, he had liked her across the face. She screamed.
“Ugh! What was that supposed to be?!” she yelled upset.
“It means he likes you.”
Morrigan looked up at the Cousland woman who had approached them, unseen. The dog jumped off Morrigan’s lap to join its mistress, sat down by her feet. Cousland nodded to the fire. “You can join us, you know.”
“No thanks, I’ll pass.”
“I thought you did not want to be alone,” Cousland said.
“I am fine, I have no interest to join your merry gathering,” Morrigan insisted through gritted teeth, her eyes lit up by magic.
“Suit yourself,” Cousland said with a shrug and turned to leave. She noticed her faithful war hound stayed behind by the fire with the young witch and a smile crept to her lips. Morrigan would not be alone. Not if she had a say in it.
From that day until the bitter end, the brave mabari would guard Morrigan’s camp every night.