Flesh Horse nods, finding that satisfying for now.

The Librarian hums in thought, or perhaps the noise is a word Soldat doesn't quite understand yet - it almost has syllables, and eventually it transforms into phrases. "Most of us, not only Burlap. The lighthouse song is the same song."

The shroud surrounding the spirit lifts in a shrug, then drifts slowly downward again. Was that helpful? Who knows. They're intent on picking up the last pieces of popcorn now.