Firestone Hot Springs he’s still leading me for

Shying, serpentlike;
only for unassuming fowl to perch upon darkling's shoulder and this reminds the stricken of Aegelius, and where-ever that mourner had gone once she had winged him away with the musiker. But, here: thin ears quiver away from rubied crown, for though it has been some time that the sight of her has unsettled another  (or, so she assumes in this instancs), she is not so heartless as to wield it over another. ... Truthfully, she is everything but fearsome.

"No,"  hushed tones, nevermind sulfur,  "I will not harm you."  She has been here thrice now to the scorching plains, and thrice not for too long a stay; wonders what-ever the gangling himself was doing about these fumes. If allowed, the stricken would arrange herself into a delicate sit —  "Ze warmth of earth here ... it is a shame it chokes ze nose."

So long and too little had it been since last Andraste spoke to younger-than-yearlings; a bit uncultivated, then, with how to better conduct herself.