Sometimes, you simply must have friends like that. That you love, and would punch. Or at least, it makes sense to Kate Kelly, which might say something of where she's from.

His bow is something familiar and gallant, all at once. A bow of respect, but it's not habitual, but considered. A gesture of personal thanks. It's reassuring, someone's manners she understands (or near enough does), and given how lost she's been, it's appreciated more than she cares to say.

"I know," Kate says. "I do try." She does, too. She tries to wear herself out so she'll just sleep, sudden and dreamless. "Do you sleep?"

He, who had silently convey regret over being a Viking?