She ignores the parts about the time aspects, because her mind is clever enough, but she's hardly equipped to theorize or make determinations about what's going on with the timelines that she would be able to offer anything valuable. She turns, then, to the question that she can answer. "Every time I'm out there, the distance continues to move. Without a compass, it's all guesswork as to whether I'm even heading in the right direction, of course, but the boundary keeps escaping me and then I'm pushed to a side and I hit a wall. Literally," she says, thinking of how nothing ever yields as escape.

"Maybe we ought to keep you to inventing something that can actually be done," she says, eyeing the smithy around them, hefting up one of the tools and using it as if a fencing rapier, setting herself at the correct stance before relaxing, setting it done. "Swords? Clubs, maybe? I'm a fan of using your own two hands in a fight, but your father was quick determined to equip people with mad new inventions that often doubled as weapons."