He laughed it off.
Not the specific, performed laugh of someone deflecting something they are taking seriously — the genuine, brief variety of someone who has processed a piece of information, found its most useful interpretation, and moved on before the interpretation had the opportunity to become a conversation. The necromancer question, the almost-decision, the specific weight of what Ambrose had been prepared to do and had stopped herself from doing — all of it filed under a category that could be examined later, in conditions that were not the inner region of the Iron Tree Forest with depleted reserves and shadow worms maintaining a cautious perimeter around frozen skulls.
He got to work.....
