The look that he gives her, the smile, is enough to make something flutter in her chest, even if she's quick to push it down, to rationalize it as gratitude and relief both. "That we are both lucky? I think that's something I can drink to," she answers, her own free hand echoing his to pick up her cup, offering him a toast before she takes a draught.

As she places the cup back on the table, she listens to the rest of his words, expression serious, contemplative. (Although occasionally there's a shift of her mismatched eyes, a hint at her brief loss of focus whenever her gaze flits to the loose hold each of them has on the other's wrist.) And she finds, when he's done, that the words make perfect sense.

"For myself, at least, the connection between these is clear. My luck, several times over, has led me to allies who grant me strength." That's not to say that her friends are her only source of strength, but...

Just like that, the smile on her lips fades.

"I had not yet considered it in that way, but... it would explain why I have not felt terribly strong, lately. I am after all rather low on allies right now."

Which is why people like Haurchefant are all the more important. Right?