[he doesn't answer immediately, his mind stuck fast around the rest of what the other man has just said. Geargadas. Aefenglom. No places he's ever heard of. Neither city nor land a place he can locate on the vast map of the word swift-pictured behind his eyes, all the places he's been and explored and seen throughout the stretch of his lifetime.

Not that he's entirely unaccustomed to the concept of other realms, though the idea that he could end up in such a place rather than the world he knows fills him with the a small measure of discomfort. A thread of cold uncertainty. His past experiences with such things, they rarely led to anything good.

For all he knows, the Witch standing across from him now, eyes cast out over the crowds below, really is nothing but a figment of his own dream. Not someone to be trusted, or believed, but--

--but. The lucidity of this dream, the length and depth of it. How far-flung and different it is from any dream he's ever dreamt before; these things, they prevent him from dismissing the stranger outright.]

I felt something. An...internal twinge. Like a...like a vibrant sort of pulling.

[He makes a vague motion with one long hand - fingers elegant, black as night - towards himself, though the sensation he describes was felt in no part of him he can specify.]

But um...what you said before. About waking up somewhere else. Where did you hear that? Who told you that?