"I don't." ...well. Ilde picks the salmon out of the bread with a certain fastidiousness, licking the butter off both the fish and her fingers, and eats just that part, focuses on what she's doing and not her company because it's still odd, having company while she wriggles back into her own skin. That's probably one of those things they're supposed to talk about, but it's so much easier if she doesn't think about it too hard.

Most things are.

"Maybe," she says, belatedly. "I don't know. Just-- see how Lost Society goes."