Dwarves and magical rites--never a combination that could have occurred in Thedas. Even the idea of it sketches clear incredulity onto Kit's face as Trahearne speaks, but the more he hears, the more his expression changes into something approaching melancholy.

"Damn," he swears quietly, and turns to shovel more of the dead sea creatures into the wheelbarrow. For a moment he doesn't say anything else, just working in silence. Then, grimacing, he says, "I didn't figure it out 'til I went topside--I mean, when I left Orzammar and the Deep Roads and went above ground--but dwarves aren't doing that great where I'm from, either. Trouble having kids. I guess it has something to do with the darkspawn, but," here he shrugs, though clearly not from complacency. "Regardless, give it a couple hundred years and I don't know if there will be any dwarves left in Thedas."

Out of all the other more personal tragedies he's endured, this one was the farthest from the forefront of his thoughts most of the time. Mulling it over now, though, it makes him a little heartsick.