He settles more comfortably back into the couch and watches as Reepicheep animatedly chats at Alain, the quiet gunslinger appearing to listen with tolerance, if not outright good humor. The drink improves as the ice melts into it, and he feels it as a pleasant warmth in his chest and head as the level slowly drops.

But it doesn't dull his consciousness of Susan becoming slowly quieter and more preoccupied, listening more than speaking. Not quite morose, but the clarity of Aslan's country seems to slowly drift away from her – that, or the shadow of Reap-Tide is re-settling itself on her shoulders.