“Come sit by me, Blaze.” Wynne sits at the mouth of her tent, sewing holes in socks. 

She joins her. "I- can help with that, ma'am?"

“Finish your food. Then maybe you can help me with some knitting.” Wynne sees Blaze’s need to be useful. It makes her angry again, wondering why the Ostwick circle would dare treat a young girl that way. 

"Yes, ma'a," she agrees, and does that.

Once Blaze is done, Wynne gives her a ball of wool to untangle. “I don’t think we’ll have time to knit a jumper, would you like gloves or socks?”

"...Ma'am?"

“Gloves or socks? Do your hands or feet get colder? I imagine you’ve been wearing the same socks for a while, now I think of it. Some nice warm socks will do nicely. Help fill out those boots Zevran gave you.”

Wynne gently tugs one of the boots. “Let me see how big I need to make them.”

She obediently removes her boots. "I- my feet are- normally fine, ma'am? The boots are- strange."

“...you don’t normally wear shoes? But your feet! They’d be so cold!”

"I- not really, but- um. Whatever you think- best?"

“Hmm.” Wynne does not approve of a young, pregnant girl going around with bare feet in the freezing Fereldan winter.  But, on the other hand, Blaze is an elf. There are things about elves Wynne did not realise until meeting their own Dalish elf Anwen. 

“Well, you must do what you feel is right, but maybe just for camp, for sleep, something warm for your feet? If only just to ward of sickness.”

"I- yes, ma'am. That- yes, ma'am."

“Good. All right, let’s get started.”

Wynne shows Blaze how to feed her wool, while Wynne’s needles click away, the Mage herself looking up to check Blaze’s feet. The size must be perfect. 

Blaze is careful with following her instructions, making sure to get it just right.

"Lovely. We'll have these done in no time."

Wynne lapses into silence, only speaking to gently help Blaze.

Quiet falls over the camp, as everyone readies for sleep, making sure they knew the people on watch on different times.

A few weeks later, the group is setting up camp close to Orzammar. They are two nights walk from the entrance on Alistair's map.

Sten watches as Blaze moves through stances again. He frowns.

"Faster."

She's not much more relaxed, but she's getting used to Sten, and her response now is barely a flinch as she resets herself and pushes herself harder and faster.

"No, not fast enough you forget to watch yourself. Concentrate."

She tries again, but can't seem to get it the way Sten wants her to.

She purses her lips in frustration.

"Do not relax your stance just because the blade has followed through, remain steady or-"

The rest of Sten's instruction is cut off.

Zevran makes a tutting noise, stepping up next to Sten. "Now, now, you cannot expect her to throw her weight around like you! She is small, and not very strong. Not like you, all muscle and strength." 

He gives Sten a very long, admiring look, if only to throw him off balance.

"What young Blaze needs is a quick, agile form of swordplay, should her clever fire fail her."