( A good pair, measured. Survivors of cool and uncaring lands, and Lan Wangji still faintly dismantled for it. His head is quiet, candid ache. An unkindness of rattling.

Unbidden, he offers his hand distantly beside his body, as if instinct compels him to see out Wanda, just as he might a child. To care and shepherd beside himself. Habit. In all things, recovery. Above all, routine. )

That which you summon is what which I disperse?

( A counterproductive pair, perhaps, profoundly inefficient. Humour compels the observation. He waves Wanda along. )

We number witches. You are not without people.