Airthel stayed back as their group made contact with the wife of the missing man. He was close enough to listen, but he didn't speak at first. Growing up with the Dalish elves, Airthel knew about the many uses of deathroot, including the anti-microbial properties of it's sprouts and earliest leaves. He also knew about some other effects it could have, depending on maturity and preparation, including a particularly potent sedative. He also knew where they would grow in the wilderness: deathroot liked decaying matter, and things like manure. It was late winter, some would almost call it spring, and luckily that was a time with good chances for deathroot sprouting. Deathroot fed on death, but it still needed the slight warmth of spring to sprout. As of now, there was much death vegetation on the ground from the winter (although Orlais was a warm country, and there were a decent amount of living evergreens were keeping the wood verdant), and deathroot would be snaking it's tendril roots through dilapidated fallen trees. He took the offered health poultice when a word of thanks, and smelled the bundle to see what she had used to make it. Smelling things like willow bark and tea tree oil, a few different possible locations popped into his mind. He asked her a few brief questions about the area she said he was headed. 

The Dalish followed dutifully behind the armored Warden as their cadre of strangely appareled foreigners traversed to the Southern gates of the city. During the walk, he thought of his known knowledge of the Heartlands. A good majority of Orlais's large cities resided within it, which makes the area scarce pickings for Dalish camps. However, that also meant that there were places where, having been foraged and otherwise cleaned out, are left alone to regrow for years, and places left alone were good for deathroot. He knew of a grove where it would be possible to find, which lies off the path to a white willow tree, and he guessed was where the herbalists got their supply of the tree's pain killing bark. He thought about the bit of directions the wife had given them, and decided that he could very well be thinking of the right place. 

The arrived to the Gate without incident. As the large human spoke, Airthel turned to listen. "I believe you are right... Corraich," He hesitated a moment to remember the outlandish name, and wondered if it meant something in his land's tongue. "But I also believe that animals that are normally hostile will be even more irritable thanks to the many refugees swarming the countryside and invading their territory." After a moment, he spoke up again, "I am familiar with these lands. I know the Heartlands, as well as many of the areas around Orlais. I believe I know the location she told us about. It is not to far, if we take a fast trot we might make it by late afternoon. It is just before high noon now, and although she said ten hours, I think we could make it in six if we take a different way I know. We could go that way, but I understand it is not just up to me."

Airthel watched, face slightly scrunched in a visage that suggested confusion, as the elf who had just a little while ago asked to keep bloodshed to a minimum was leaving the city with weapons drawn. If he didn't want a fight, he shouldn't look like he did. The Dalish shook his head, and reached slightly to feel his bow strapped to his back, but did nothing but run a sensitive finger along it's sinew line. He agreed with the barbarian's statement, but kept his thoughts to himself.