"Aye," Teren replies easily, and falls silent again to listen. She's silent for a time, perhaps missing the point as she pipes up again: "oh, we've got them too, werewolves. Never seen one myself, but there was a big to-do about a pack of them down in Ferelden during the Fifth Blight."
Sipping her wine, she doesn't seem to grasp the big deal yet.

"The Wardens are a gaggle of eager children dreaming stupidly of glory, and pathetic sods thrust into their ranks with no choice in the matter. Darkspawn are ours to fight, it's true-- horrid stinking creatures they, but not so very relevant to Rifters, or the Inquisition at large."
Although she's brusque, and her phrasing is harsh, Teren has a pleasant enough look on her face, leaning forward slightly to clasp her cup between both bony hands.

"If you're in a hurry to kill yourself, by all means. But I expect there are better ways to spend your time. Join the bloody Templars." The corner of her mouth twitches up in a snide smile-- somewhere, Anders just gasped in outrage and doesn't know why.