[The very last ferry back to the Gallows is always crowded for space. The one immediately before it however—]

You're familiar with the qunari Rifter, are you not? Loxley, I believe.

[It's just the two of them and the ferryman, rain pissing off the points of the woman's waxed cloak's hood. She is faintly green around the gills and pale everywhere else. The ferry plows down from the crest of one hacking harbor wave and into another, bouncing unpleasantly. She winces.]

Apologies. I find talking keeps the mind from the stomach.