Brennan's avoidance of her first question irritated Imenry. It wasn't that he'd given a poor answer, or even said something that suggested he didn't want to talk about it, he'd simply said nothing about it at all. Sighing, she turned to look at him. "Will you pass me that?" She indicated the cloth folded on the bed beside him and stood from the water, holding out a hand for it expectantly.
The air raised a chill across her damp skin, but it was negligable to Imenry. This was spring in Ferelden after all, and it was much warmer than spring where she'd grown up. When Brennan passed her the cloth she began to dry off, wringing her long hair out. "They have a Chantry here. I think if they wanted to round you up they'd have done so already."
Imenry was a woman who didn't consider much about being undressed around other people and she'd been that way in front of Brennan many times before, so she didn't think to cover her nudity as she moved towards her pack on the bed where he sat. She looked much the same; all subtle curves and lean muscles. More scars adorned her body than the last time he saw her, a tribute to the way she'd lived and the way she fought. One along her thigh was long and faded white, it's severity lessened by time and the healing touch of a stranger mage. At her shoulder, the small round mark left behind by a crossbow bolt, a jagged scar diagonal across her ribs, and others both faint and not, some obviously from greater wounds, others minor.
"Of course Signy will help," she said, tugging on her one clean shirt from the pack. It skated high on her thighs, but at the moment she wasn't putting her pants back on. "She's my... friend. And she'll like you. Most people do." She narrowed her eyes. "Except for apparently, random foreign women. Seriously Brennan... why did you let her slap you?"