Removing her overcoat and laying it on a nearby rock away from the water, Feri undid the buckles of her braces to roll up her shirt sleeves. Her teal gloves were so stained with blood and dirt they had turned black; her hands hadn't fared much better either. Now kneeling close by the water's edge, Feri began scrubbing at them in the water, darting a glance at Rannon as she washed. From under his shirt she could see a worrying amount of cuts, but they didn't seem to be too serious. They were clean at the very least. Older wounds were littered across whatever skin she could see... and she could see quite a bit of it through his ruined shirt. Feri's face flushed red as she realised she was staring and her eyes quickly returned to her gloves in the stream. Most of the grime had been washed out, thankfully.

"Oh! Thank you. I'm no warrior, but I know how to make my blades dance." She replied with a chuckle, standing up and wringing out her gloves. Feri herself was no stranger to scars; from underneath the rolled up sleeves of her shirt (That seemed nearly as dirty as her gloves, at this point - the bleeding from her side wasn't doing it any favours either) pale lines could be seen dotted about her tanned forearms and hands; hands which, while certainly more slender than the average Dwarf, were calloused from years of hard work.

Dousing a handkerchief in the water before stepping away, Feri ran the sopping cloth across her face and neck, smiling at the cool relief as she walked back over to Rannon.

"I moved to Lothering a few years back, with my Mother. We're not from Orzammar, or any of the Dwarven Thaigs. I don't think I've even been underground, actually." She answered with a somewhat uncomfortable laugh. "I doubt I'd be let in. I'm half-Dwarven, you see. My father was - is - a sailor from Rivain. The traditional-thinking Dwarves down below don't think highly of half-breeds like myself." She laughed again, this one sounding bitter. While Feri had never felt any want or need to go underground, there was always that niggling feeling of discomfort that people she could well be related to would shun her because of her blood. And speaking of blood, the wound on her side was now beginning to soak into her trousers. Pressing the handkerchief to it with a grimace, Feri retrieved her things and threw her coat over her spare arm, motioning back towards the clearing.

"I have a make-shift camp not too far from where you found me. I have a bag there, with some bandages - I always like to scout ahead before I choose a path, so I dumped my things before leaving. Thank the Maker I did, otherwise all of my supplies would be covered in Darkspawn blood." Pausing before moving on ahead, Feri glanced at the lolloping Mabari in the water, stifling a giggle at the daft sight.

"I'll bet I have a treat for Gideon too." She added, waggling her eyebrows encouragingly at Rannon.