Just as Morrigan was ruminating the loss of their favorite article of clothing- this kind of material was incredibly difficult to come by in Zeinav, thank you very much- an arrow flew through the air and planted itself in the beast’s shoulder. The beast howled, eyes darting around as it looked for its second assailant, but the perks of being one of the most loud, jingly, and annoying creatures in the realm was that Morrigan drew the attention of everyone around them like a bird of paradise.

“Hey there! All eyes on me!” Morrigan called out, as flippant and jubilant as ever. The beast, torn between the invisible archer and the sparkly, pretty object in front of them that was still bleeding out from their side, eventually gave up on the one it couldn’t find in favor of the one it could.

The good news: this was the intended effect.

The bad news: Morrigan now had one angry kitty barreling at them, and they were all out of their damaging potions.

There was only one thing left to do.

“Why don’t you take a fist full of pocket glitter?” Morrigan shouted as they reached into their pocket for one of their reserves, throwing the handful right in the creature’s eyes. Yes, this was the signature move Morrigan used against angry mobs, the perfect move against an unsuspecting opponent-

But the beast barreled on, completely unbothered by the obstacle in their eyes.

“What the hell?” Morrigan yelped, completely ignorant of the fact that they’d only ever tried that move against humanoids, and that the tactic was useless against stronger beasts of prey. Nor did they have time to ruminate on that particular fact, as the displacer beast teleported once more, this time behind Morrigan, and pounced on them with monstrous speed, knocking Morrigan onto the grass below.

The wind was unceremoniously knocked out of them as Morrigan struggled, earning the beast’s claws in their shoulder for their efforts. Morrigan struggled against the beast, wildly searching for any kind of freedom before they were mauled in front of a very lovely man who’d been downright pleasant company. They were so distracted that they didn’t hear the sound of breaking glass in their pouch, one of the rounded vials cracking and shattering from the impact.

That was when a real smoke bomb went off in a shower of dust and colorful powder.^[1]

---

1. Smoke Flask

A sigh of pure relief escapes Kvasir as his first arrow finds its mark, perfectly splitting into the displacer beast's shoulder and seizing its attention for a brief moment as it fruitlessly searches for the source of the shot, unable to figure out exactly where it had come from. This was a perfect opportunity to fire off another one, to distract it from Morrigan and give them a chance to recuperate, to step back and let Kvasir fire off as many shots as it would take to properly weaken the beast so the two of them could either escape or finish it off--

But before he gets a chance, Morrigan is quick to demand the beast's attention again, not allowing the creature's eyes to flicker over to Kvasir for even a second.

What were they doing...?

That flash of relief spirals into the cold breath of dread as he watches Morrigan toss a handful of that false stardust right into the creature's eyes, an endeavor to blind it-- only for the beast to completely ignore it, as if the shine and sting of glitter had been little more than just the inconvenience of a fine mist, disappearing and diving from a new position, pinning Morrigan to the ground in a predator's effortless efficiency, their blood welling against its claws once more as they sought any method of escape beneath it.

Kvasir feels his heart sink.

He has to get down to Morrigan, has to come to their rescue, has to get the both of them out of there and pray they could outrun a gods-damned displacer beast, rest of the herbs be damned--

His thoughts scatter like a fistful of captured stardust as the crack of glass seizes his attention, and an eruption of dust and powder billows around creature and companion alike.

Now-- this is his only chance to act--

He nocks another arrow, adrenaline bursting through his veins as he pulls the bowstring back, aiming for where the displacer beast had been and praying that there had been no sudden movements beneath the veil of colored dust. He has no way to see inside-- all he can do is hope. Kvasir lets go, firing one arrow, following up with a second-- please, for the love of Solaria, let them hit, and let them hit the right target.

"Morrigan!" he cries, already starting back down the tree, not even minding the way he practically slips down. Splinters are an easy fix-- he'll worry about those later. "Morrigan, just-- if you have the chance, run! I can fix injuries, but I can't fix death!"

The sudden burst of dark dust and swirling glitter choked Morrigan’s senses until they could no longer so much as make out their palm if it were five feet in front of their face. The only fortunate outcome was that neither could the displacer beast. With both blinded, it was only down to their other senses to guide them, and the beast had the clear advantage. It let out a snarl as it dove down to take a bite out of the prey still pinned under it- Morrigan twisted and brought their sickle up to block the blow, jamming it in the kitty’s mouth before those fangs could do even more damage.

That was when they heard the THWACK of an arrow, and the beast roared from the impact. Morrigan yanked their sickle out of its mouth, taking the opportunity to tear up its cheek. The wicked curved blade drew blood in a vulnerable place in the beast’s mouth, and the pressure keeping them on the ground lessened, and there was a solid thump of something hitting the ground a little ways away. Was the beast dead? It didn’t matter- Morrigan wasted no time picking themselves up, half-limping half-running in the sound of Kvasir’s voice, not bothering to check if the beast was dead or not, or if it was following Morrigan.

They burst through the smoke, gasping and coughing and covered in copious amounts of glitter. Even their blood-soaked shirt was stained in the sparkly substance. Kvasir was already climbing down a tree, worry evident on his face. Morrigan flashed him a wry grin as they wobbled on their feet.

“What’s that look for?” They asked, breaking the tense silence.

Disbelief would almost certainly be the wrong word to use to describe the look on Kvasir's face as he glances over Morrigan.

It's a coalescent mess of all sorts of feelings, really-- relief is in there, somewhere, to see them alive and mostly intact, even if the blood and brilliant powder staining their skin and tattered shirt is more-than indicative of the injuries they've sustained trying to fend off the displacer beast. There's a flash of anger for their recklessness, a low ember burning gold; sorrow festers deeper, for what could have been if just one movement had gone awry. There's the fraying remnants of panic, billowing in the wind like a war-worn banner, and exhaustion for them both, for the fight and late hour and all that's passed in their relatively short journey. It's quite a tempest of emotion, each of them raining down in equal, misty measure.

For a long, eerily silent moment, Kvasir says nothing; his lone eye stays fixed on Morrigan, only moving to scan over their injuries, over the rest of them, almost clinical in the way he surveys them despite the veritable thunderstorm of feelings still clear in his expression. When his gaze comes to rest on their face once more, he pauses for a mere moment longer before suddenly, carefully moving forward, gently wrapping his arms around the enchanter's shoulders.

He gives himself a moment before channeling that healing light from earlier, the pulse of sunlight and stardust and all the serenity of both, giving all he has to undo every injury the beast left on Morrigan's body. [1]

"You damned fool," he chides gently, the words lacking any real bite to them-- there's a fondness there, if anything, a gratitude burrowing beneath them. "Still smiling after something like that... you truly are so very strange, Morrigan Moonweaver."

---

[1] Major Healing

Kvasir’s stormy gaze was fixed upon Morrigan as if debating whether he was going to punch them. Morrigan half expected to be on the receiving end of an exasperated insult, or even the cruel words of someone who’d pieced together that Morrigan was not the wizard they claimed to be at all. But then they were treated to the feeling of a warm embrace, a gentle hug from the taller man before they were treated to another wave of healing magic.

The healing came as a relief, and oh, Morrigan had not realized how much pain they were in until Kvasir stitched them back together. There was still nothing to be done for the shirt, and Morrigan was still endlessly disappointed about their shirt, but a quick trip to any Zeinav marketplace would remedy this problem.

Or perhaps it was time for a wardrobe upgrade- they would not mind Kvasir showing them the latest in Moonglade fashions while they were in town… but their mind was wandering. Now was not the time to focus on the prospect of a shiny new coat or even a nice gown.

The wound was cleared up, but not the glitter and sparkly dust that was still lightly coating their skin. Morrigan wiped some off their cheek while Kvasir chided them- with no real anger in the medic’s tone, Morrigan noted with faint surprise- and leaned up, tapping their glitter-smudged finger to Kvasir’s nose. Some of the glitter stuck to his tanned skin, which… likely would not come off without a good scrubbing, but Morrigan did not wish to see them so serious, so worried. Why was he still so upset?

“Hey, it’s over now. There’s no need to look so worried. You’ll have wrinkles by forty.” They said, voice teasing as if to undercut Kvasir’s worry, reassure him that they were still here and breathing. Morrigan may not have been the powerful mage they claimed to be, but it would not be so easy to get rid of them. “Like I said, I’m a leech, remember? You can’t get rid of me that easily. Besides, it was your arrow that finished it. And, we got the herbs! What isn’t there to smile about, friend?”

Another surge of relief floods through Kvasir, a wave washing over a shoal, as he watches the subtle edge of pain ebb away from Morrigan's expression as their wounds gradually heal, warmth and golden light erasing the agony. That's a good sign-- the wounds had definitely seemed far too severe for more minor degrees of magic, but he hadn't seen any signs of severe internal bleeding or anything of the sort that a more moderate spell wouldn't be able to touch. He's thankful he was right; he hates that Morrigan got hurt at all, but at least it was nothing so severe that a major healing spell couldn't fix it-- at least, not at a glance.

"Did that help?" he asks, glancing over them once more, one gloved hand rising to their cheek to just-slightly tilt their face aside, urgency rising to those forest-green eyes once more. "There's no more pain? Nothing internal? Everything's where it should be--"

Kvasir trails off, mid-sentence, as Morrigan's glitter-stained fingertip brushes against his nose, leaving a cluster of sparkles behind. His nose twitches with it, lashes fluttering against his cheek as he blinks in surprised silence before a bout of soft, quiet laughter leaves him.

"Again... you truly are so strange," he says, parroting the words in the same soft tone. Melancholy still burrows beneath, a rabbit hiding beneath the raised soil of a garden, but it slowly begins to fade beneath the weight of relief, the soothing rain of Morrigan's strangely cheerful tone. "There may be plenty to smile about, but you nearly gave me a heart attack or two there. That last trick of yours even had me afraid I might shoot the wrong target. I'm... very grateful my arrows landed where they needed to."

Kvasir gives a weak smile at that, slowly starting to withdraw his arms, though he doesn't step too far away.

"...ahem. We've... certainly obtained our fair share of Dusk's Kiss, friend. We shouldn't tempt Fortune too much more-- what say you to finding someplace to settle for camp for the night?"

“Yes, all patched up!” Morrigan said with a bright smile. Kvasir’s magic was strong, far stronger than simply patching up bumps and bruises like Morrigan’s sprained ankle. “The same cannot be said for my poor shirt…” They toyed with the torn fabric between clawed fingers, running their hands over the stitchings. Perhaps materialism was another one of their weaknesses, but they’d always loved pretty things.

Speaking of, Morrigan turned back to Kvasir at his comment about their oddity. “Plenty have told me that before you, and I’m sure many will after.” They did sound slightly apologetic- the most they could muster- as they spoke next. “Though I do apologize for worrying you. The bomb was… an unintentional mistake on my end.” And an unfortunate slip of bottles resulting in a broken vial. Morrigan peeked in their bag, unsurprised to find a broken mess of glass and even more glitter than they were currently coated in. They frowned and plucked out a few broken shards, dropping them in the grass below. “I was not worried. I had a feeling that if you were as skilled as a bow as you were with healing then I was in good hands. And I am!”

That was when they spotted what they were looking for as Kvasir released his grip on them, though he was still hovering close, almost like an anxious den mother. Morrigan was not made of glass, but they would refrain from commenting, considering they’d unintentionally worried him during the battle. They triumphantly pulled out the bottle of spirits, miraculously intact despite the fact that they were unceremoniously thrown around like a ragdoll.

“Yes, I think I’ve had enough plant gathering for the day. And I believe you owe me a drink, and the delight of your company for the evening.”

The two eventually managed to find a quiet place under the stars, a safe enough distance from the glade where they’d fought the displacer beast. Kvasir managed to set up a campfire while Morrigan prepared drink and rations, and the two found respite laying amongst the still-luminous leaves. It would be a long, joyful night of shared stories and laughter- the first between the two, but it certainly would not be the last.