Outside the Tea House, Bright and Early!

"Didn't we all?" Calanthe chuckled in response to Eon's earlier statement regarding the accord, then returning her attention to the others. It seemed that the morning plans were to go shopping, then.

Cal smiled politely at the qunari woman as she made her recommendation. She seemed very wealthy, and Calanthe hated the idea of going through the trouble to find an Orlesian tailor, who was who-knows-where?, and then probably get charged a ridiculous price for a single set of socks. But, if that was where Cato needed to go...

She watched Eon with a mixture of amusement and concern. He was quite the firecracker, wasn't he? Cal wondered if he would be alright on his own. He was jumpy enough when it came to light conversation with others, and he might end up getting caught in some trouble down the line...should she invite him along as well? Cal considered the thought quietly, smiling when Cato's hair became the subject of conversation. Everyone seemed to like his hair, didn't they?

Amara rubbed her forehead and sighed a bit, looking at all the extra people. They were bound to attract unwanted attention, especially with someone spouting about that they were a mage. Looking at Cal, then Cato, she shook her head and turned back to the elf. "Look, kid if the nice lady says you're not an apostate, you're not. Just stop telling everyone," she offered, biting her lip. Of course, this probably wouldn't help any. And then Cato was wearing make up. Of course she wore it sometimes, but usually not on the road.

"Orlais? Well it's on the way," she muttered, leaning against the wall and pressed her fingers to her temples. "If Cal would like breakfast, we can wait and eat. I'm okay for now."

Oh great, another elf. Just what she needed, more people. So much for going and finding some stupid books. Or discussing where to start. Rubbing her temples, looked up at them all and took a deep, slow breath. Offers to sew clothes, to find a tailor, what was wrong with just standard leathers? Really it was pretty impractical, even for a mage to walk around in just cloth.

"Hey, uh Circle boy. I think your friend needs some help," she offered, reaching in her bag to pull out a poultice. Offering it and a bandage to him, she went back to rifling through and pulled out a piece of jerky. If they were going to stand and talk, she was going to eat. She'd done her good deed for the day.

"Nothing, really. I slipped on some ice or somewhat and hit my head on that book booth. It's summer," Natriel said, dazed. She was too scrambled up to stop Eon from mothering her.

Natriel gasped as if she remembered something. "Eon, are you splitting from me?" She said as she turned halfway to peer into her basket. She dug around a little before she brought out a bundle of elfroot and rashvine. With unsteady but deft fingers, she twined it into a braided crown and handed it to Eon. "It's for a safe journey. Usually they are pressed, but time...," Natriel shrugged off the rest of the sentence. "I'm heading to the Tirashan. Where are you going?"

She was unusually chatty. Either she hit her head way hard, or maybe she did miss having a travelling companion. She had been alone since she separated from her clan.

Natriel raised her eyebrows at him. When was the last time someone was scared to say no to her before?

Natriel rolled her head onto one of her shoulders and let out a loud chuckle. It fell into a brief laugh before Natriel snuffled. The elvhen mage raked her hand through her mop of hair with another escaping chuckle.
"Don't duck your head like a scolded child now, da'mi. You're a big boy and I'm older than you are and," Natriel sighed deeply. "Frankly, much better trained in battle. I can take care of myself. But can you?" Wait. That might be insulting. Rethink. "You're new to this world, Eon. You've been in a shem tower all your life. A group of," Natriel's gaze flickered to the kossiths, human and elf. "...Adventurers. Is not comparable to your grade class."

It was strange to open up like this, but Eon reminded her a little of home. Now, Eon was as flat-ear as an elf could get, and no one at home had ever seen her drunk, but his naïve nature reminded Natriel a little of the little elf children she would patch up with Clan Lavellan, or her brother Raferian's little girl. Last time she had seen them, it is. The kid had grown on her. Like mold. Mold that thrived on the damp remains of her good-will.

(It had taken her two muggings to stop walking down alleys.)

Even though he wasn't really a kid, Natriel felt unsure about leaving him. She didn't know or trust (surprise, surprise) his new travelling company. Eon wasn't worldwise. He swung around big words and thought that he could fight anything and come out on top and frankly, Natriel wasn't sure if he could. She'd been subjected to the world of Shems for many years, and she knew just as well as any human that shems would sacrifice anything for gold.

Even Eon.

Natriel thought briefly about abandoning her escapade into the Tirashan forest. The forest was a forest older than many clans: it could wait. Eon couldn't, if he needed help.

But the lure of her history was too great. The idea of finding something of what the Dalish used to be, could be still, sent her dead heart racing the way a letter from Inan did.

She could put it on hold if Eon really wanted it, but she would always return to the woods.

Calanthe could sympathize with Amara's display of defeat, and she sent an apologetic look her way, despite the fact that she was not the cause of the disruption. "I'm fine," Cal told Amara. "We should go before the shops get crowded." She addressed the qunari woman next, thanking her for the information lent and inquiring about the tailor, should they decide to stop by along their journey.

When Eon's companion arrived, Cal had almost offered her help. However, Eon and Natriel appeared to be doing well enough on their own, thanks to Amara's supplies. She attempted to ignore their conversation out of respect, but it was to little success, and she moved closer to Amara, speaking to her at a low volume.

"I think the lad wants to join us," Cal said. "And maybe his friend too. How should we handle this?" Yesterday, Calanthe could not have even imagined being in such a scenario: walking out of a tea house with a runaway Tevinter mage and an apparent Tal-Vashoth to find magic books. Definitely not what she would have expected, much less being approached by a few more entities of varying interest that same morning.

Natriel flicked her eyes at the elf speaking.

Oh. It's that one. Eugh.
"If anyone has a problem with any elf, they may take it up with me," Natriel said with finality in her tone. With a slow drag release of eye contact (body language in "...Anyway.") she turned back to Eon. "Fen'Harel, the Dread Wolf, god of Trickery and Deception, murderer of all-mother Mythal. The tale of Fen'Harel is long and involved. He has misled and deceived any he could. It could take hours to tell."
Fen'Harel, who sold out his people for money and power. Fen'Harel, who offers no mercy. Fen'Harel, who follows the scent of the vunerable. Eon.

By the creators, what else is a Keeper for if not to protect the people from the wolf?
Tirashan will wait. I'll accompany."

Natriel shrugged. She wasn't in charge. "Maybe we could split up to quicken the pace," she suggested. She actually was hungry and really needed to finish a few letters.