"Mm." It's a quiet sound, a kind of contemplative semi-agreement. She's never had something like this happen before, so it's taking a little getting used to. However much other stories might come true remains yet to be seen.

She's quiet as he describes various magic users, pondering what exactly he might call black magic, when the mention of making friends with moles catches her. It's ridiculous, and her eyebrows press together, but it doesn't stop her from a laugh as he criticizes the architecture.

"Making friends with moles in the sixteenth century?" She sounds skeptical and looks it, too, but she does want to believe him. "I thought your story fell before that time."

She means to ask more about magic, but she lets the question wait for the moment.