The magic dissipates into the air, and Greta takes a moment to glance down at her gloves - fingerless black leather that reaches past her wrists and are carried on my cloth wrapped and bound around her arms, up and past the elbow. She flexes her right hand, tugs the glove on the left a little, and looks to Cassandra with her own shadow of amusement.
"It must be Nevarran solidarity, I think." Although, one can never know. If this woman attended court, she may have known Cilla. She may even recognise Greta, though it has been so long since she was there, and she does not plan on introducing herself as Margareta Dalqvist. Beyond mages, perhaps that would be no point of interest - she was only a girl apprenticed to a Necromancer, no noble, no one worth esteem.
She pauses sets her staff at her back, and inclines her head in a respectful nod. She can't decide if she is pleased or terrified at having met one of her countrymen. "I'm Greta. I don't, uh." Beyond the field of battle, well, she begins to carry herself a little more awkwardly, holding herself tall and stiff, the way a shy person who has been forced beyond that tends to do. "I don't meet many Nevarrans in Ferelden."
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"It must be Nevarran solidarity, I think." Although, one can never know. If this woman attended court, she may have known Cilla. She may even recognise Greta, though it has been so long since she was there, and she does not plan on introducing herself as Margareta Dalqvist. Beyond mages, perhaps that would be no point of interest - she was only a girl apprenticed to a Necromancer, no noble, no one worth esteem.
She pauses sets her staff at her back, and inclines her head in a respectful nod. She can't decide if she is pleased or terrified at having met one of her countrymen. "I'm Greta. I don't, uh."
Beyond the field of battle, well, she begins to carry herself a little more awkwardly, holding herself tall and stiff, the way a shy person who has been forced beyond that tends to do. "I don't meet many Nevarrans in Ferelden."