[My people. It's a phrase he's often heard used to describe Dalish clans--bearing a sense of belonging and isolation both. It's as foreign an idea to him now as it was back in Kirkwall. He's under no illusions that Hawke and the others are his "people," given their disagreements and personal identities. Kirkwall itself held too many fragments groups: mages and templars, humans and dwarves and elves and Qunari, the Alienage and the gangs of Lowtown. It had drawn in a colorful variety, begetting disaster. Too many minds. Too much power shifting hands.

Fenris finds himself rapt through the explanation. He can't imagine it. He shakes his head at what she says.]

I may not understand, but there's no need for an apology. [Not when it's clear how important this is. The life and death of an entire civilization is significant. It makes him wonder what her city looks like, what sort of culture lives there.

Fenris stops at a vendor selling colorful spices. He sniffs his nose, inhaling the fragrant wares, then glances at Kida as though something's occurred to him.] What do you mean, the bottom of the ocean? How is that possible?