Jannik is in the same boat, and oh, if only it were a literal boat. Equally predisposed to loathe anything that makes travel difficult and that didn't exist in Orzammar, he's hardly going to begrudge this poor Tevinter bastard some foul language.

"And the dog it rode in on," he agrees, looking up from the sodden patch of spindleweed he's gathering and searching for the source of the voice. It's a bit difficult. Lukas has come to blend in with the omnipresent mud. His staff, however, is just visible in the weeds along the riverback, and Jannik picks it up to hand it over. "This yours, salroka?"