Nior feels two things at once. One is an echo, an understanding of Mir's reaction. The other is... complicated. Like a beautiful intricate puzzle, like staring into the cold embrace of death, like something that's perfectly right and perfectly wrong in a seamless, gratingly incongruous meld.

"Same question," says Mir. "Wow."

"Lovely house you have," says Mir. "Please, can you tell us what's going on? It's been a very confusing day."

"Oh! Yes, certainly, I'm terribly sorry, it just completely slipped my mind you wouldn't know anything, it's quite alright. You've been... well, you've been prophesied as the Kings of Narnia, I suppose. The Sons of Adam, come at last, to help Aslan overthrow the White Witch."

"I'd hoped for something along those lines," Mir admits. "Does the prophesy say anything about how we're supposed to manage this?"

"Well. I do enjoy a challenge," says Mir.

"Well, we're hardly the ones to ask, you know. As we said, Aslan is on the move. You can ask him about it when he comes."

"Do you know how we're meant to find him, then? Or is it just a matter of keeping ahead of the White Witch's people until Aslan finds us?"

"Oh, no, he'll meet you at the Stone Table, that's known. You'll have supper with us, of course, but then we can take you along the way."

"Thank you very much for your hospitality."

"Oh! It's no trouble at all, when's the next time I'll be able to feed the Sons of Adam, hmm?"

"Fair enough. Who's Adam, anyway?"

"All right."

"How'd you turn up all this in the middle of an everlasting winter?"

"Oh, the Cornucopia, of course. It's a real blessing in this time of need, the Cornucopia."

"And what is it?"

"...It's a horn that makes food. Sorry, it's surprisingly easy to forget that you're, ah, foreign."

"I'm surprised we speak the same language. Or is that magic?"

"I'm not sure I knew there was another language to speak. But when in doubt, it's like as not something to do with Aslan."

"Seems reasonable," says Mir.