"Being in poor standing with the god we left behind. Another thing we share." Who's to say if that's what drew the eye of this one? A collector of lost souls, with a ferryman straight out of myth to conduct them?

The thought has a certain poetic justice to it. He'd been ready to cast the witch away on a ship with no thought to where she went so long as she was away, and it is him cast off into a strange world in the company of strange people. He hasn't even pressed the other for a name in return--but then, he feels the only way to stay afloat on these waves is to let things come as they may.

He's still slow to proceed into the kitchen with exploratory caution, senses pricked to a taut and bristling alertness after the shadow guardian. More so when the prickling continues past a sweep of the unoccupied room. "No, wait," he interjects, putting out a hand to buffer the man before he can stray too far ahead. "Something's not as it seems."