Simon has met his share of elves who were wary of him, but nobody's ever been flat-out petrified. He looks momentarily taken aback, holding up his hands as if to pacify--ah, but the staff explains it, or so he assumes. He's not wearing Inquisition insignia along with his Chantry garb. He could, for all the poor girl knows, be completely rogue and hunting mages for sport.

"No, it's all right," he says earnestly. "We're all just out here on Inquisition business. We've got mages. It's fine." Apostate or no, there's nothing to be done about them for the time being, so there's no sense in frightening one who's not doing anything visibly illegal.

The mule will clearly not respond to sweet-talking. Simon weighs the benefits of making a quick grab for his halter, but decides that sudden movements would probably not be the best thing for anyone here.