"Nice imagination you have there," he snorts. "No, they don't do that."

"My imagination is a vast and bizarre place."

He laughs.

"I've been writing stories in Ansati for practice. They're short and simple but they are pretty out there in terms of content."

He giggles. "That's charming."

"Not all of them are," she amends. "But some of them."

"It's strange sometimes, being one of the only two people alive who grew up speaking Ansati," he admits. "I think I'm glad you're learning it."

"It's a beautiful language," she says, in Ansati.

He grins. "Yes, it is," he agrees in the same language.

"I probably can't have a conversation much more complicated than that, yet," she says wryly, not in Ansati.

"It's a start," he says, smiling.

"It is! And it's not as though I'm terribly time-limited in learning it."

"All the time in the world," he agrees.

"Not that I want to take too long, considering that the magic books are mostly written in Ansati, but, you know, soft limits versus hard limits."

"Yeah. Oh, speaking of death," he materializes a lovely crystal bottle filled with water and hands it to her. "I went by the healing fountain earlier. There's a few dozen of these sitting in one of the other guest rooms on your hall."

"Oh! Thank you!"

"You're welcome!"

"I don't anticipate needing them in the immediate future, but I'll definitely carry one with me. Better to have than not, in case of an accident."

He nods.

"I've gone my whole life without that kind of accident but better safe than sorry!"

"I'd be very disappointed if you fell down the stairs and died!"

"Talk about irony."

He laughs.

"Who expects a girl taken by the Lord of the Howling Mountain to die in his castle by accident?"

"Certainly not me!"