A/N: Just a little bit of poetry that I had to get out of my head and onto paper.

Reviews are always welcomed and greatly appreciated!

Disclaimer: Bioware owns Fenris and Hawke. I own nothing nearly as cool as them.

The Hawk and the Wolf

The hawk sees everything.
She is a predator; a deliverer of death.
Her broad wings flap through the morning air.
Her dagger-like talons dig deep into flesh.

The wolf runs relentlessly.
He is a hunter; a seeker of sustenance.
His swift feet carry him towards his goal.
His crushing mandibles find his prey's windpipe.

Fenris rarely got the opportunity to watch her fight. Usually, they were both engaged in battle against greater numbers. Today was a rarity; they had been granted a day of reprieve by their fearless leader. However, she was apparently ignoring her own orders, and was using her time to practice some new skills. Hawke stood with her back towards him, blades drawn, sparring with Isabela. He noticed little things at first—she tended to lead with her right hand; she leaned slightly forward when she swung. She wore a mask of concentration on her face, and he observed, just a bit of a smirk. Fenris knew that she was stunning, but when she fought, she was incredibly bewitching. Many a man would die happily at her hand. Her armor fit her snugly, and when she twirled to avoid a blade, the skirt flew up enough to catch a glimpse of her upper thigh. For just the briefest of moments, he thought about how glorious it would feel to run his hand along her exposed thigh. He would glide his fingers across her silky skin, along her thigh up to her hip, pulling her into an embrace. The sparring ended, and he quickly pushed the idea away. Those kinds of thoughts about his striking leader would not end well.

She stepped back, feeling her shoulders crash into a wall. She glanced around, noting that only one opponent remained. In front of her, Fenris ran forward engaging the lone slaver. She came forward to help, and he waved her off. She recognized the look of hatred on his stern face, and realized that he wanted to kill the slaver himself. Instead, she decided to enjoy the view, hungrily eyeing the lean, handsome elf as he attacked. He swung his two-handed blade at the enemy, dealing crushing blows to the out-matched man over and over. She admired his furrowed brow and tensed forearms as he waved the huge sword in graceful arcs. He was savagely beautiful; wild and brutal with his attacks. She noticed that as he moved his arms, the collar of his armor briefly exposed the nape of his neck. She allowed herself the fleeting daydream of sliding her fingertips around his neck while she pulled him into an embrace. She wondered if he had ever let anyone close enough to hold him, surprising herself by how badly she wanted to try. The end of the battle brought her back to her senses, and she quickly dismissed those thoughts. Fantasies about her tantalizing companion could only lead to trouble.