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Fenris almost didn't recognize the feeling of it all. His chest hurt, and his eyes watered. The jutting breaths causing his entire body to move with them as he attempted to calm himself.
Laughter.
He had seen others laugh, he had done so himself on very rare occasion- but never like this. He had felt blinding, excruciating pain. He had felt the pleasure of an orgasm- when master would allow. He had felt spitting rage and bitter envy. He had felt so much in the years he was graced with a memory of. But he had never lost himself completely to laughter.
Somehow, with these men and women, he felt safe. He felt free. He finally felt a full stomach, enjoyed the pleasures of ale when he chose to- not just when ordered, and the warmth of plush blankets not sullied by white fluid or pressed down by his master's weight.
Fenris watched as one of the men stood, stepping toward a small woman with a large belly. He was fond of the man- he was fond of them all. They could have- and should have- left him to rot at the Qunari's hands that night.
But they didn't. He passed out at their feet and woke with the sun to cleaned wounds. They had treated him more like family in the few months he had been with them than anyone had ever done in all the time he could remember.
A rustling came from the bushes nearby and the camp went quiet. Whether it were Qun, Tevinter soldiers, or just wildlife, it was best to keep quiet. The men gathered their gear and Fenris followed suit, coming up beside the one that led the camp.
Upon seeing the grey bearded man with the stave and the flicker of steel in his eyes, Fenris realized that the laugh he had with the Fog Warriors would be the only one he'd ever have.