Atharen gazed over her squabbling companions and sighed. They should stop running their mouths and help her heal the injured. Her magic weaved through wounds as easily as water washed over a rock. Groans eased into sighs of relief as the cuts knit together and bones set with a pop.

It came as no surprise when some of the injured -mostly templars- glared at her. Never mind that she was an elf, Dalish at that. They all knew spirit healing required contact with spirits. To many people, spirits were just as bad as demons. Atharen sighed. No relief from the ever oppressive eyes of the under educated.

Looking over her charges, Atharen could see she could do no more for them. She stood and dusted off her gown, smearing dirt and blood into the fabric. 
"Abelas!" She frowned down at the cloth. Lucky for her, these robes weren't even hers. The Circle mages insisted she wear this. To keep them from prying, they said. Who was going to pry? The templars? They could see clear as day that she was Dalish. She took the robes to ease their minds. With them ruined, perhaps it was time to don her own clothes.

As Atharen walked back to her tent, she decided to check on the two ladies that had taken the verbal beating from the Warden mage.
"Are either of you in need of healing?" She asked, hoping she sounded as pleasant as she was trying to be, "Don't worry about that one." Atharen said while gesturing toward the Warden that had now walked off, "She will know the good your templars do, even if she refuses to see it."