"I did not need your help, mage," he spat, the word "mage" dripping with pure venom. It wasn't true, of course—he'd been on his way to having his memories wiped once more and becoming enslaved to Danarius yet again—but with the wounds of betrayal still fresh in his mind, it was hard for him to act with anything but contempt toward a mage. Every mage he'd ever known and trusted had either hurt or betrayed him for money and power. Danarius. His sister. Hawke.

The memory of it would haunt him forever. His own sister had betrayed him, lured him into a trap. And then Hawke had so readily, so easily offered him to his former master, despite his pleas. Fenris had given up, then and there, resigned to being enslaved forever. Then this mage had come along, attacked Danarius's convoy, killed his master, and made Fenris a free man once more. And his first action as a free man had been to kill his sister. He didn't regret it.

He shifted uncomfortably in the wagon—a merchant's caravan, willing to give them a ride in exchange for the mage's coin. Fenris hated the idea of being indebted to a mage. Well, right now, he hated most things. There was nothing but pure bitterness in his heart after the one person he'd loved most in the world had traded him away like a piece of merchandise.

Frustrated, he ran a hand through his hair. "I'm...sorry. I do not mean to sound ungrateful," he murmured begrudgingly after a long silence. "The past week has not been easy for me."