The dwarven girl looked up, momentarily surprised—not that that slightly startled look wasn't a common one for Signy. Her train of thought halted, and she blinked, trying to keep the sunlight from blinding her utterly. (It wasn't a particularly bright day, but everything seemed bright to the new surfacer.) "I'm sorry, I just… Lost track of myself, I guess. I was just thinking about home, what they're doing, if they're alright." She gave a weak, half-hearted smile; supposing they were all right, any of her family or fellow-mages, was supposing an awful lot. Dust Town had been a bloodbath when she left, with the rest of Dagna's so-called Circle right in the thick of it. And the Diamond District was just as vicious, if less obviously bloody.
"I was worried about my… I suppose you on the surface would call her an arl, or... they seem to have an awful lot of different words, actually." She frowned (almost a pout, as she confronted the difficulty of terminology), but continued soon enough, "The head of my house. And about whether or not I'm living up to her expectations, and her trust in me."
It was an exaggeration—or an assumption, maybe, but Dagna had placed trust in Signy, in making her a mage: trust that she would come through the process whole and empowered, and not sickened or maddened by the lyrium, and trust that she would use magic well and responsibly, for the betterment of Orzammar.