Moira finishes her glass of wine at Alodia's next question, recalling with horror the way the mist that brought them back seemed to do so at the expense of another man's life.

"The same mist that took us, and also killed that poor baker, Tristan," she says, barely suppressing a shudder. The memory of that moment has yet to cease haunting her in her sleep. "He saved my life, and he could have easily left me to die and fend for himself," Moira shrugs, thinking that kind of thoughtfulness is well worth pointing out. And besides, she secretly enjoys her banter with James, the more she thinks about it.