The inquisitor's shoulders jump in response as the elf's sharp words lodge themself in her chest. She had been staring for too long again. People didn't like that, especially not people with stories. Despite everything, she still hadn't gotten used to trading conversation with such important people; being a noble aside, which...she had been bad at. Mother had never allowed her into talks with dignitaries and viscounts. She had charm, sure...but most people in court tended to be rather dull...and logical. Really she wasn't anything more than a jester in their eyes.

She felt like one now, really. The Herald of Andraste, marked by the rift, and all she could do was watch on like a child as the Savior of the Blight cast his gaze down the long, central drop of the rotunda; Leliana's messenger birds fluttering around him without a care.

"...This being simply surmised, we cannot say for certain whether or not a non-mage's attempts at an intimate connection with the Fade will improve their relationship with- Agh...another dead end. Maker, what am I supposed to do..?" The Inquisitor was huffing and rambling beneath her breath again, having come across another pointless documentation of an individual attempting to understand things about magical affairs that they could not normally afford to. However was she going to get better at this whole anchor thing? And...if she didn't improve upon it, how else would she come to understand Terha, and Purpose? She thought maybe this would get her closer, but...

She paused, finding that her routine walking path had taken her to the threshold of just where she might need to be, though...it might have also been her subconscious. All this talk of magic and dreams and the Fade had brought the hermit mage to her mind...

...Perhaps it wouldn't be too much to bother him about the subject? But then...how willing was he to be pestered yet again? She supposed she'd find out, apprehensively slipping her way into his study and offering a quick, habitual bow.

"Afternoon, Solas! I..hope I haven't disturbed you overmuch. I was just passing through when I thought I'd prod you with some recent inquiries!" She was speaking much too formal, as she would back home, though it couldn't be helped when it came to talking to someone who was clearly leagues above her in subject manner.

She hadn't quite recalled what had knocked her out initially; the choco bomb, the low hanging pole or...maybe she'd simply slipped the saddle? When she tried to picture the scenario, it all came back so fuzzy. Her head already hurt enough on it's own, she didn't need to add deep thinking to it.

Not that this had been the worst of her injuries, but she'd still felt plenty guilty when she'd been all but shaken awake by the xaela and got a mouthful of dust from the racing track. Alta wasn't very vocal in her experience- well, not as vocal as she was perhaps- so when Azalea's name had fallen worried from her lips, she couldn't help but cling onto that, and what remained of her consciousness.

Right. She'd wanted to show off her chocobo racing skills, and something had knocked her off her loyal steed, bad...Matron's Teats she was raised a better rider than this. It would be just her luck to fall off while a friend was watching.