Standing in the doorway to the tower, Mynne can almost hear Solas' words once again. "I did not mean to hurt you," he had said. He had warned her, but he had pulled her back to him time and time again, and now the words ring hollow in her heart as she stares at his desk. He is preoccupied, staring up at the frescoes he has painted. Or else he is simply refusing to acknowledge her. Her eyes narrow as the waterfall of foreign words press into the back of her mind. Having drunk from the Well, she often finds her new mental counterparts rushing to get their words out whenever she is close with Solas. The more she listens, the more she learns, and the more clearer their tone becomes. They are trying to warn her.

When he had told her the truth of her Vallaslin, offered to remove them, she had laughed. She had bore Mythal's twisting branches long before she stepped foot into that temple, long before she had bound herself to the goddess. And now he barely speaks to her. He turns, finally allowing her a glance from the corner of his eyes and a shock causes her to jerk away from the wall she had been leaning on.

"The Wolf is here." The words enter her mind like a knife through ribs- resistance at first, and then as if they were made to be there. Her mind seals around the words, refusing to let them go.

Stunned, she is still for a moment, eyes wide as she stares unabashedly at him from the side. He finally turns to her, as though he is surprised, whether at her waiting or at her appearance she is uncertain. But as the shock subsides, she feels a frigid anger welling up from the pit of her stomach, working its way up her back, and the chill makes her fists curl.

Without thought she strides forward, chin lifted, eyes narrow and pulls the chair out from his desk, turning it so that she can watch him as she drops into it, crossing one ankle over the opposite knee. She pulls a small knife from her boot and begins to clean underneath her nails.

"Is there something I can help you with, Inquisitor?" Even through her rage, the moniker burns.

"Solas," she snaps the name out from between her teeth, and he appears taken aback, but he waits. "I know you disapprove of me drinking from the Well." His expression darkens, but she ignores him. "But I did so with the expectation that you might be willing to put your reservations aside and help me decipher the knowledge. And regardless of what has transpired between us, I still require that assistance." She looks up to his face now, sliding her thumb along the smooth metal of her knife, and she's not quite sure if the motion is a threat or not.

"I will do what I can," he says, though his words are measured, his expression guarded.

"My mind appears to be adjusting well, but the voices keep repeating one phrase, and I am having trouble deciphering their meaning. I assume it is important, given their insistence." Her eye turned back to her knife.

"And what are they saying?" he asks, but he does not want the answer.

"The Wolf is here." She gives him the words in their ancient form, eyes flashing back up to him in time to watch his expression blanch.

He took a moment to think. "Perhaps they reference the Fen'Harel statues scattered throughout Thedas, including within Mythal's own temple," he said, thoughtful, turning his eyes upward as he rests a finger on his chin.

"Hm," Mynne hums dismissively. "Perhaps. They seem much more insistent for it to be something so unimportant. Do me a favor and think on it?" she asked as she rose. "I will speak with Morrigan in the meantime. She may not be pleased that I denied her the well, but I'm certain she will assist me regardless." She runs a thumb over the blade of her knife again. "And Solas?"

He looked back to her, expression still guarded.

"Do not continue to lie to me." Her tone is hard, and her words are punctuated with a violent motion as she digs her knife deep into his desk. His chin tilts upwards, but his face reveals nothing as she turns away from him.