So it's been a while since I've updated! Sorry about that, guys. (: Just been super busy and all that good stuff. So yeah, here's the sixth prompt - Prowl. I wasn't really sure what to do with this for a while, and so I came to the conclusion that the best way to get over prompt blocks is to introduce a new character!

I won't do that every time, I swear. c:

No pairings in this one, really... Potential Zevran x OC, just because I love Zev. Also, sorry it's a bit short. Getting back into the swing of writing and all that.

Anyway, yeaaaah. Reviews & messages are love. They make me want to write more! And I want to say thanks to all who have reviewed so far!

Rating: T.

Meir follows them with great intent. The Wardens and their posse, he means. He is mostly after the Antivan. Mostly, but not quite.

Zevran has been his target for a while now. Meir intends to kill him - with great gusto, in fact - but he has found himself... fascinated. With the group in general. Rag tag and mismatched though they are, they work together surprisingly well. The Wardens do not demand allegiance, but everyone stays anyway, and this is what Meir is most fascinated by.

The sense of comraderie is something he has never experienced. Assassin's rarely work in groups, you know - mostly solo, silent, in the shadows and rarely noticed. He has learned that working in groups gives room to blame others for your failure, a natural impulsion that happens even if you think you are above it, even if it is not their fault. It still ends up in pointing fingers and playing a game that Meir would most certainly be a loser in.

Letters and notes come from the Crows. They nag - are you done? Is Zevran Aranai dead? Have you killed him?

Meir answers each time; patience is a virtue. And that is all he writes, because he refuses to grace the higher ups with anything more. The only reason he can get away with that kind of attitude is because he is good at what he does, sometimes even the best, and they know it so they just wail and gnash their teeth in frustration.

It kind of makes him feel powerful.

Evening approaches once more, and the party stops to set camp. Zevran seems very unusual at the beginning, cocking his head and pausing every now and then as he sets up his own things; and Meir watches from the shadows with great interest now, attention drawn away from the Wardens and the other companions to return to the Antivan if only because he is acting so strangely. But soon enough, the strangeness wears off - and everything is back to normal again, or as "normal" as things can be.

Meir returns to watching the Wardens, then the Qunari, and the apostate; Zevran loses his attention quickly because suddenly Zevran is bland and rather a wallflower. Meir doesn't notice, however, when the Antivan leaves camp as silent as a wraith.

He notices the presence behind him, but too late because he is so enraptured with the dynamic of the party; he has let his guard down, and suddenly there is something leather wrapped around his neck, pulling him back and his lungs are closing and he can't breathe.

"Did the Crows send you?" Zevran's heavy voice muttered in his ear. Meir splutters out something malicious in response, unintelligable because he fucking can't breathe, and Zevran lets up a little bit on his leather chokehold to let the primitive noises develop into something more.

"The Crows?" Meir replies as innocently as he can, with a leather strap cutting into his jugular with great ferocity. Zevran gives another sharp tug.

"I think you know what I am talking about," he mutters, his voice a little bit cross and very much not patient with him. Meir just coughs.

"I think you are wrong," Meir answers. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Zevran?" a woman's voice calls. "What are you doing in the brush? We're setting up camp!"

"Ah, just a moment!" Zevran responds, and turns back to Meir. "The Crows. Did they send you? Yes or no?"

"I don't know -"

"Zev, you're making Aislinn anxious with your dilly- Oh Maker," he says when he comes upon the scene, and Zevran sighs heavily.

"I did not wish to make a scene," he explains. Alistair looks as if he might flail.

"I think it's a little late for that!"

"Alistair," Zevran presses, "calm yourself. I have it under control."

"Help," Meir says, weakly, and Alistair looks particularly sympathetic.

"Shut up," Zev growls at him. Meir coughs a mangled response, and that is when Aislinn makes her way over.

"Zev, what's going on?" she asks, incredulous, and Zevran sighs as if thinking, this is why I caught him in the brush, so that no one would be asking this question.

After a good amount of arguing, Aislinn said, "Bring him into camp. We're discussing this, Zevran."

Meir is placed by the fireside, where the big fellow - the Qunari, Sten? - stands beside him most threateningly. Meir tries his hardest not to be cheeky.

"If he is from the Crows, then the best thing we could do right now is keep him so that he won't go back to them," Aislinn tells Zevran firmly.

"I have to disagree. The best thing to do would be to kill him. That way he could not send a message at all," the Antivan replies dryly.

"We can't use him if he's dead."

"My dear Warden," he begins, with a great amount of sighing, "I must implore you-"

"You'll implore me nothing," Aislinn replies. "I used this same talk on Alistair when you wanted to join up, and here we are." A confident smile comes to her face. "The prowler is bunking with you."