"Well elves in general have a hard time with humans. They are seen as lower than humans... sort of like your... casteless I believe. Is that what you call them?" She looked down at him briefly before casting her gaze over the camp and into the distance. "Most of the ones that live in human cities have jobs as servants. And some are sold or stolen into slavery. The Dalish are elves who have... tried to hold onto their own culture. They live in nomadic clans in the forest, as far as I know, and avoid contact with humans. They worship their own gods and try to keep their traditions alive." She turned her head to smile at him. "It's a worthy goal, I think. But the Chantry is more concerned with spreading their own beliefs."
She smiled to herself, thoughtful. "Poetry? Really? Of any type in particular? Epics you say? I've heard a few of those in my time. There was one, in my village, about Tiberius Grey, and the great mountain wolf that he slew. They claimed that the wolf was easily as big as a dozen normal wolves, and he prowled the mountains after dark, snatching away the men on watch and stealing the game from the villagers' traps." She laughs. "Of course, I'm not telling it properly at all. I haven't got the dramatic flair. But perhaps I could write it down for you one day." She fell silent a long moment, catching a flicker of movement in the distance. In the branches of a nearby tree an owl landed, and blinked at them with huge golden eyes before taking flight again.
Turning back towards Rhocanth she let out a small chuckle. "I'm sure they will. And you'll be able to list your own achievements among their glory."