She whistles, low. Anything much else, and that'd be for irony's sake — this, this is different.

This is six kinds of not good. Her own hand hovers over it, cautious, then pulls away. It's half a beat before her eyes flicker up to his.

"Heard a little on those on the road." Heard more than a little on what happened to the Herald with theirs. "They got the first idea how to get it out?"

Melys is pretty sure she knows the answer to that one, and just as sure she don't want to. She waves the question away.

"...Don't mind that. They will." They'd better. "Girl get a matching set?"

Question's not exactly from the goodness of her heart. If there's anyone else gone missing near a rift, that's a place to start looking.