Caves back in Thedas usually meant one thing: Spiders. Giant spiders. Seeing as the ones in the arena appeared to be clear of the murderous insects, Hawke was more than happy to explore them to her heart’s content. If the people from her—country, world, timeline, whatever makeshift magic label could be applied—were camped out in one, there were bound to be more tributes inhabiting others. Her goal ran more along the lines of finding abandoned camps, however, the possibility of supplies left in a mad rush to escape too good to pass up. She could only wave a pointy stick at people for so long. She needed a real weapon. Food or a blanket or any other resources couldn’t hurt, either.

It was an idea evidently shared by others, if the voice that came from the mouth of the cave she’d been exploring was anything to go by. Hawke stood up from where she’d been examining the remains of a campfire, edging closer to the source of the greeting and raising an incredulous brow when the glint of a knife was produced.

“Do they normally greet people with weapons drawn where you’re from? That sounds like an awfully barbaric society.”