(They have, in the brief interim before Tsenka's remark, cadged a ride back to town in a sleigh whose nervous driver was more than happy to vacate the area after the commotion and make a bit of extra coin in the process. Yseult regards them both from one corner of the forward-facing seat, a blanket tucked neatly and unself-consciously over her legs. It's fucking cold.) She looks faintly bemused, some unspecified humor tugging at the corners of her mouth and eyes, mingled with the faintest air of incredulity as she looks from the mage to the rifter and back. Her tone is mild, without judgment:

"I take it you had expected something different?"