It would take a more engrossing puzzle than an illusory rosebush to distract Myr so completely as to not notice the muttering going on behind him...though it is engaging enough for him not to trouble himself over that muttering right up until his new object of fascination vanishes completely. He draws his hand back and straightens up, his perplexity deepening as he rubs the feel of foreign magic from his fingertips with his thumb. Illusions aren't a common magic on Thedas--outside the Fade, where they're the definite province of spirits and demons--so he's a little slow to make the immediate connection.

But when it does click-- He turns in Sarkan's direction, considering the last words of the spell he caught and comparing them to his store of remembered voices. It wasn't in Trade, but he might recognize that one... And a faint smile tugs at the corner of his mouth as he does.

Well, he'd been meaning to meet the fellow in person sometime.

Carefully, using his staff to feel out his way, Myr makes his way over to the wizard's bench. "Was that yours?" he inquires, once he's close enough they can talk in conversational tones.

And then he deliberately takes one step closer to the bench than he needs to be before grounding his staff and winding his hands around it, his face turned politely toward the other man.