Imenry could not help but smile at Hilda’s description of her mother. She sounded like a strong woman, the type of strength borne from a life in harsh conditions, but not beaten down by them. Her family was large and apparently loving, a rarity it seemed in today’s world. Even though Imenry had not had any siblings of her own she had been close to her parents and the love she’d received from her own family made her feel even more as though she and the Anderfeln woman were sisters of a sort. “And was he?” she asked, referring to her brother Lukas. “Demanding that is.”
When they spoke of the Dalish and the Avvar, the other nomadic peoples who held respect for the land that provided for them they were still working on preparing the meat to eat, either for dinner or later consumption. Once the sausages were stuffed into the natural casing of the intestines Imenry tied the end off, having twisted them into links while she worked. They’d be hung beside the fire to absorb the flavor and heat from the smoke. “There were two young Dalish, whom we picked up along our way to Amaranthine. Turns out they’d had a spot of trouble with some Templars. One of the young men is a mage and they were trying to take him into custody or perhaps kill him. The Warden Commander stepped in to recruit them instead and so they joined the Grey Wardens’ cause. As for the others well… I’ve met Chasind. An interesting story actually, and the first time I met the Templar Alderic Thearre, who is also now a Grey Warden. I’ll share it with you some time.” For now she was interested in where else their conversation was going. Avvar Hillsmen were well known for avoiding others and sticking to the highest and most inhospitable parts of the Frostback Mountains. Imenry had only been there recently herself and had never run across one as far as she knew.
Hilda’s people had a way to holding onto their pasts, onto the lives of everyone whom had crossed their paths that seemed very respectful. No one person was revered above another. Though in ones own life some people might hold more importance than others it seemed as though every story Hilda carried with her was equal with another. It was something that she could certainly respect and understand. Those who came before carved the way for the rest of us, and their sacrifices, desires, loves, laughs and sadness should be remembered if it could. In the way that Imenry would remember and carry her own family with her, those people of her village who had perished in bloodshed, a way of life lost in the ashes that scattered to the mountain winds, Hilda would carry the words and traditions of her own people. Even if her home was still there, her family still whole and safe, life held no guarantees.
She knew that better than most. At least now.
Standing, she cast her eyes about for some suitable sturdy sticks and went about planting them firmly into the ground beside the fire. Packing the earth around them with her boots she wiggled them slightly to make sure they would stand under some weight. With a knife and another stick fixed across them her makeshift rack was ready and Imenry draped the sausage from it. She built a smaller fire beneath this rack and then laid some brush and damp leaves atop it so that smoke billowed up towards the meat in a slow and steady stream.