"That's life though, innit? Must be some dwarf kicking about in there somewhere, keeps you going along. And who needs either of those things? Do they put food on the table these days?"

Maybe some folk do but Aura Hardie is alive. Melisende is still somehow clinging to the fraying edges of life. His brother is probably dragging her through that. One day he'll get all three of them down here and probably rest easier knowing that pretty much everyone he can possibly account for is accounted for within walking distance and just make his peace with it.

He takes a moment to really hear her words. To digest them. The reaction is a deep groan that comes from his smallest toes all the way up, free hand dragging through his hair until it gets tangled because he-- he hasn't brushed it. Apparently has some sort of mechanism caught in it. He hopes. Might be anything really, it's not like Yngvi's got eyes back there despite some choice threats to the underlings.

"Don't tell we've got walking corpses to deal with as well?" It's the first thought he jumps to as a legacy from too many battlefields and living in Kirkwall, as well as Asher's tendency to get them roped into all sorts of outright weird jobs. "How did that even happen? No, that's not-- nevermind, that's not the main bit. Grease. Lots of grease, I'm not wasting a trap when they'll just keep trying to go and drag themselves along with a leg left behind that someone'll have to clear up."