This is what she doesn't remember:

She is less than five, perhaps even as young as three years old. Her world is hunger and tucking herself into small corners and avoiding the great boots of the shem, but mostly hunger. She was weak and trembling with it the day that she went to the big marketplace.

Starved though she was, she spent some time in the shadow near the chantry's wall, licking her lip and watching a merchant's stall. He had baskets full of carrots and onions. Her belly gnawed at itself.

She stared at the merchant, willing him to sleep, forcing him to it. His head lolled to the side as slumber overtook him all at once, still standing. She had taken two darting steps toward the carrots when the templar who had been watching her the whole time picked her up off her feet.

She fought and twisted in silence, hitting and scratching, but the silver shem was so strong. Her heart was thumping swiftly in her throat when, in her desperation, her magic flew out of her in jagged forks of lightning. One blinding line touched the templar's eye. As he dropped her, more light crawled over her own small body and the pain consumed her. She blacked out before she hit the ground.

It was raining when she was given to the circle three weeks later. It would be nearly twenty years before she would feel the rain again.


This is what he does remember:

He was allowed a moment to dress before they took him. He stole another boy's shoes, too large, and into each he rolled an embroidered leather glove.

He felt the leather against his toes as he followed the men away from whorehouse. He was Dalish. He would not give them what they wanted.