For a moment, she's a little starry-eyed at the thought. How many times as a child did she sit and stare up at the great tapestry of Éorl's charge and imagined it moving? How many times in the long watches of the night did she wish she could speak to him? The idea is giddying.

Giddying, and a little unnerving. She clears her throat, trying to push away her too-obvious wonder at what he's saying. She's a grown noblewoman, and she oughtn't to gape at things like a child being told a story.

"Is it not strange? To speak with those long-dead? Do they know they are... well, paintings?"

She has so many questions right now.