Cedric’s diplomatic enough to rein in his kneejerk reaction, but Astrid has no poker face to speak of, and so she gives away every last flicker of expression, all that distaste crinkling her nose. “Why? Any special spirits or is it just, like… anyone? Whoever’s nearby to get punted out of the Fade?”

The Avvar were startlingly comfortable with spirit possession, they did it with impunity, but it was always a living give-and-take. Learning, guiding, allying with the local spirits, a symbiotic relationship. Not— whatever this is, after death, some spirit maneuvering your corpse around like a meat puppet—

It’s at least less viscerally upsetting to her than the pyres, though. At least it’s engaging with the spirits (helping them?) rather than burning it all up. A kindness.

At his question, Astrid takes an indrawn breath. It hasn’t come up before (the Head Healer hasn’t done his survey yet), so she realises that until now, no one else at Riftwatch knew to do this part for her. It’s rotten work but someone’s got to do it.

“Yes please,” she says. “I dunno how the Lady would find me otherwise. Although I’m assumin’ if you die on a mission, you don’t want me to hack you into pieces.”