Honestly, Hawke would almost take one of those tiresome errands over this. At least then she'd be able to talk and make a joke about whatever awful thing someone's had her do. She could cope with that. This just makes her feel miserable.

Sulkily, she flops down on the sofa in the living room, sprawling out and leaning her head back against it, though there's plenty of room for him to join her. Lifting one hand, she points at her throat, mimes talking, and then turns her hand palm-up in a shrug. What happened is that she can't talk. And she is obviously not pleased by this development.