The memory of salt water brought a nano flash of panic, but the draughts were taking effect and soon Emile was preternaturally calm and continued on with his dinner. The steak Dion was delicious, the Waldorf salad superb. During the dessert, which he shared with Grand, he was suddenly struck with the exact number of dead and dying elves in his momentary flight of imagination. Twelve. There were twelve of them. Odd, eh? A mystic number.