"A rifter capable with a sword, mm?" Nari raises her eyebrows at that, "It feels like a while since we had anyone rift in who was--" she raises the biscuit to gesture around at the world in general, "--from anywhere comparable."

The flaky bread is about to finish the rest of its journey to her mouth before she pauses and leans back instead with a distantly thoughtful expression. "What a world we live in now," the Dalish woman says, her tone changed entirely to a pensive kind of wonder, "Every day I go to work with a woman who uses silent magic and wields a sword made out of light, the hilt some kind of complex machination that's perfectly normal to her. A man comes by who does the same, and he talks about flying like it's less than nothing. I eat meals with people who have dragons for pets and come from a land where elves still reign." Her expression shifts to more of a helpless-- albeit fond-- disbelief.

"And then, in the mornings I, Nahariel, hunter of Clan Dahlasanor, go tend to a statue of Andraste that I carved, and collect and treasure small smiles like I might particularly eye-catching river rocks from a human, and I'm here eating biscuits with a lovely Vashoth in Kirkwall, and somehow remarking on it all like it's... normal." She shakes her head wonderingly. Then her brain rewinds slightly and she opens her mouth, closes it again, flushes red, and resolutely goes back to eating.

It's fine, Korrin probably didn't notice.