Once his long shadow that filled doorways in the corner of her stopped having her jump out of her skin or searching for a set of qunari horns, Thor was a face to which she learned to cleaved to as familiar in the way she projected her own situation to. A reaction to being ripped out of the world she knew to be really before someone pulled the plug. Neither of them were quick with so-called modern vernacular or cared much for the onslaught of information via a cold glass slab made of lights and the dull, constant buzz of wiring. Both of them out of place save when it was walking the plains and narrow mountain passes of Thedas or the spiraling golden spires of Asgard. Useful when applied correctly; they had that in common.

Haleth's mouth opened and snapped shut before she could answer with what she had been taught. A phoned in answer how the Dalish had no home but for wherever they stopped the aravels. Now, it felt like a child's answer. An ambiguous response falling on deaf ears to someone who lacked context for a world which no longer, never, existed.

"No," She said, "We were pilgrims - all of us."

She stopped where loose stone groaned under leather boots on the base step of the stair case up from the bailey towards the heart of Skyhold.

"Beautiful for something that was an old ruin, isn't it?"