Morrigan's own mount, an Inquisition horse of no particular distinction beyond being apparently rather infamously ill-tempered and thus chosen for that trait alone, snorts from where she's tethered it for the time being. At least it isn't frightened of the more unique creatures among their party.

"I am certain that dinner parties and even a visit to a doddering old dowager." All it would take would be a stray ball of wool, rolled just right so that it unwound enough to pull tight and trip someone. (Leliana look what you and your adopted country have done to her.) "We might find ourselves in good company in the eyes of some; if the Inquisition is made up of heretics, what better place than Serault where heretical Chantry groups lurk upon the margins as bandits and pirates do upon their lands. Have you heard of them?" Perhaps they aren't quite so well-known when Serault is so very desperate to reclaim their status but it had been something that had caught Morrigan's interest, if only to alleviate some of the boredom during her stay.