When she turns back to face him, she has a bundle of bones in her apron. Clattering about, hollowed-eyed and brittle. A skull that stares out from amongst the pieces. But mercifully, all free of spiders.

"Well, I have you with me - it is very hard to be scared all alone, and with a brave soldier." She thinks, at least, from the garments, the bearing, venturing a soft gaze over him somewhat hopefully that she has been correct. It comes to a quick realisation that she has never seen many soldiers up close. Only on ships passing through. "... And they are spirits. Their matters are their own, if they wanted to speak with us, I am sure they would, and if they wanted to hurt us, I cannot think a single spirit that would not have struck us down already."