They turn their head at his voice. They were enjoying the little dolls, if a bit sad for them, and they contemplate his words for a moment. They were sad because the dolls were alone here, not because they were bound against their will.

"What does that matter?" they inquire guilelessly. Maybe the sorcerer had just wanted a friend. Pitou had one like that back home, a beautiful warrior with silver hair whose head they stolen, and then sewn back on so that he could dance beautifully for them. The doll had not been as lovely dead, but they had loved it just the same.