Perhaps she shouldn't have tried the little experiment with the Veil, but it had been a good eighteen, perhaps closer to nineteen, years roughly since the Inquisitor had defeated Corypheus. Many of the rifts had been sealed by the Anchor before it had gone out of control and perhaps some still remained, but Athelya doubted it. IF they did exist the creator of the Veil would close them, if only to keep the spirits about those parts of the Fade happy. Fen'harel was odd like that, but the elvhen woman had grown used to the antics of her teacher. For it was he who had helped her perfect her magic, had sharped her skill over the last two years she had spent running from who she was. What she was. But the pale haired elf knew she would never escape it, and someday she would have to step up. To take the place Fate had shaped her for. Perhaps she had run away merely for the escape from beneath her mother's protective prison, but instead of running from the answers she had wanted to reject. The legacy she never wanted to be part of. Athelya had fallen straight back into the hands of that same legacy. Though it was no longer a well intended prison, the hands had become the whetstone. One which had strengthen and sharpened what had been healed and allowed to flourish. It was oddly fitting, Athelya thought according to the old legends of the Evanuris.

Though her thoughts were paused as a voice called out through the dense forest. Knocking aside several branches with her staff of plain and twisted wood, Athelya gave a dry look as she gazed upon the archer and his nocked arrow. To find someone so very, very far out in the Wilds. It was surprising to the mage, even more so was it when she realized she gazed upon a human. "And I would be very careful about shooting before you learn of whom you are aiming that arrow at." She remarked with a dry voice, a slightly amused smirk softening her stern features. "I am quite curious as to why a human is so far out in the Wilds, weeks from any farmstead or village. Let alone so near one of my people's ruins." A shimmer of magic flickered along her staff as she stepped past the branches and lowered the staff allowing them to fall back in place. Were the human archer to fire at the elven maid he would find his arrow knocked aside by a barrier of magic.

The blue in Athelya's eyes was far more prevalent, and a dull color, compared to the vibrant green flecks that seemed to gleam with a hidden light in comparison. The knee length coat was a deep blue edged with grey, her leggings looking to be of comfortable leather. All in all the clothing was many years out of style and not bearing the wear of one who had been tramping through the forest for weeks herself though there was a good bit of wear here and there. The scorch of magic, the small cuts that could be from a fight. The few stains of mud or blood. "You, humans, generally avoid them for fear of curses or other such things. Ghosts, the agents of Fen'harel, and such." The elven woman continued on waving a dismissive hand in the general direction of her ruins. If they did belong to anyone it was the Dread Wolf, but she did have some claim. An amusing though, and one that only select individuals knew. Agents that worked for her, to create something a future that would span any the Dread Wolf or the Inquisition could forge.

Raising a brow at the human as she waited for a reply, Harellan flipped her braid onto her back, irritated by the stray strands that kissed her cheek. A distraction that she did not approve of. How many mages lost their concentration and fell because of foolish distractions that disrupted a spell causing it to falter or worse, backfire. "Though I suppose the hunting is better out here. Fewer competitors and I am not among them." She mused over his reason for being so far into the middle of essentially nowhere if an eluvian had not been within those ruins. But there was also the matter of what to do with him. To let him run loose was perfectly fine in her eyes, but Abelas was going to be coming in a few days and the ancient elf was picky about humans being in the relative area of a elven ruin. Understandable seeing as how long he guarded the Well of Sorrows, but unnecessary for Athelya had no intention of letting a human ruin her vacation spot. For all they were ancient the two elves that could 'command' her hardly noticed she was absent from the camp, at least for a handful of days. But giving them a common place to look simplified things. She was able to plan out her own battle strategy and pass her orders onto Kieran or he to her. They would go their separate ways with no one the wiser thus far. If only because they never arrived at the same time. Their notes and letters hidden away in some secret spot they had agreed on, changing it every so many moons. Their letters and clues written in a code developed from their childhood. "Or you could be here to rob and loot an already empty temple. I'd advise against that, the only thing of interest is myself and my pack. Neither of which holds anything overly interesting." A utter lie in regard to herself, for Athelya liked to think herself quite interesting, but it was true about her pack. Which had run out of food the previous night. Thus signalling it was time for her to return.