"Bless you," Yseult replies, with a twitch of a smile for the sneeze-pause. She's shaking a rag out into a bucket, ringing the (literally) charcoal-colored water out with both hands.

"And Loxley too. Arany. Is there one more?" She squints into the middle distance above his head, and then shrugs. "They must be gone. It's a shame about Loxley. The horns are limiting enough."