Fifi laughs in spite of herself: they don't need to speak Orlesian, but it's sweet that he tried.

"Non," she replies, and then switches to Trade out of mercy, "Kirkwall is the farthest north I've ever been. And the only place out of Orlais, at that."

She approaches the eluvian, glances back at him, hops through: it feels wrong not to do a little assemblé when one is traveling into such a strange doorway, like one might leave part of oneself behind if taken too slowly.

On the other side, she clicks her tongue: "we've much to do."