[Most of Fern's nights are spent in the Lowtown docks now; sharing grief with loved ones doesn't make the pain go away, but it spreads the burden of carrying it around a bit, which helps. Time enough has passed that she feels confident about coming back to the Gallows, to reclaim her little bunk in the barracks and try to sleep there.

She's just exiting the ferryman's boat, tipping him a bit of coin, when she notices the strange elf painting something across the side of one of the buildings. She startles at the sight of him; he doesn't look Dalish, for like her, he has no vallaslin, but he certainly is more brazen than any other city elf ought to have been. She cautiously glances hither and thither, just to make sure there's no snooping shem guardsman on duty, then approaches him.]

What are you doing? [she hisses at him, clutching her small parcel of personal belongings to her chest, like it will serve as a shield between herself, and whatever trouble this stranger elf is going to bring down on her head should they both get caught vandalising the shem Viscount's property.]