[Once there had been a girl in Lothering, a girl who had admired the feathers on her robes as Morrigan had stood apart from Jonas and Alistair after arguing with them. Her family had been packing still - sometimes she can scarcely believe she remembers such a small thing so very well - and she had plucked a feather from her shoulder to give to her, with a warning that darker days were yet to come. Now she wonders what became of that girl. Did her family even make it out before the Blight swallowed Lothering or was her fate like so many others?

She doesn't know what to do with praise, especially not with this, and she stares with a face more open than it normally is; there's no clever arch expression, no composed cool look, no joke that she understands and keeps to herself until the opportune moment. Her smile is small, almost hidden by shadow but it's there.]

Tis good of you to say so. [So many others would disagree. Her own heart collects doubts, piles them up to weigh them on the scales against her guilt, her love, her hurts, what she did and why and what she must do and all the messy awful terrible things from her own childhood.] Is that what drove you to heal? Surely you must have been tempted to use your magic? I travelled with a powerful healer once, true, she was possessed by a spirit of Faith not unlike that abomination amidst the ranks, what little healing I know in spells, I have used for Kieran. My own lies in herbalism and a touch.