Speaking became easier; words were less wooden and halting, becoming more fluid in rhythm. My mind processed the guards grumbling, and I understood their disgust, having to feed us along with their put upon attitude for having to re-light the torches when they went out. New prisoners came, minds addled, and I listened to them babble about things that I barely understood: Ostagar, the Maker, Andraste. I have heard Soris quietly speak similar words when he thought I was asleep. Maker. Andraste guide me. “Who is that?” I asked Soris after he finished explaining about a holiday called Satinalia, which sounded like a mixture between the Festival of Fools mixed with Mardi Gras. Soris gave me a puzzled look. “You keep saying Andraste guide me or Maker, please…,”I said, recalling the small reverence and defeat in his tone when he spoke the words. “Ah. Right, sorry,” he said, scratching his head, fingers tangled in his long hair. I …show more content…
Never going into detail, I explained that I was a victim taken from my home, far away from here. I told him nothing of the dreams I had or the monster whose smile and laughter still echoed in my head if I thought about it long enough. It was doubtful that dreams like that were normal, even here where elves existed. I was not going to take that chance and potentially alienate my only source of knowledge and companionship here. Luckily, my explanation helped to explain my behavior towards him as he confessed his confusion over my awe over his appearance when we first met. Hastily, I gave a tiny bit more depth to my backstory noting that my hometown was small enough that while we were aware of non-humans (Soris’ term) encountering them was rare. I was ninety percent sure Soris did not believe me, but he said nothing allowing me to prod him for