Sarein didn’t think she’d ever been happier. Joy had been a rare thing to come by in the Alienage. Their celebrations were few and sparse—Wintersend, Summerday, and the occasional wedding—and more often than not spoiled by shem. It wasn’t as if guards or Templars would come to the aid of elves. The shems did as they liked, spilling blood and stealing their women. [i]Assholes.[/i]

The past four years had been better. Givrail kept her busy; teaching her to read, how to fight, and putting her skills to good use when tracking down recruits. They often met with other Wardens in their travels, sharing warm meals and swapping tales. It was a hard life, but better than anything she’d known before. 

But nothing in her twenty two years compared to this moment. Sarein stole as many glances as she could, watching the griffons as they preened and played. The little ones were so dear, almost fragile. She wanted nothing more than to reach out and run a scarred hand down their feathered heads. It was only Givrail’s stories of their ferocity and pride that kept her hand at bay.
Her footsteps were silent as she gathered the shed feathers, basket balanced against a hip. She’d fletch a thousand arrows if it meant she could be here again. 

Someone was calling out. It took Sarein a moment to realise she was being addressed, golden eyes watching a griffon at rest. She glanced up, her long ears flattening alongside her head, eyebrows knitting together in irritation. Rising to her feet as they approached, she shifted instinctively, turning her vitals away. She’d had too many daggers in the belly over the years, and even armored she was reluctant to give anyone the opportunity. They were fellow Wardens, of course, but Sarein knew better than to place her trust blindly in others.

“I never received those orders,” she spoke in a thick, Orlesian accent, regarding the elf and human warily. That they were unknown to Sarein was not unusual—she had not been with the Wardens long, and she had never been to Weisshaupt.  “I arrived a few hours ago—some human put me to work fletching arrows.” She tilted the basket of feathers pointedly, her eyes narrowing. “And I know better than to touch.” 

Arching an eyebrow, Sarein tilted her head. “So, if I am to report to Samson or Dougek, it would be helpful if you could tell me where to find them.”