Magnus rolls over, dislodging all of Galahad's hard work with the grass, and flings an arm over his chest, pulling him in for a cuddle. "Yeah," he says; he's not given to disassociation himself, but he's pretty sure it's in the same ballpark. Like two different Valhalla recycling chutes dumping einherji escaping to Boston in two different parts of Fenway, or whatever. Guiltily, he adds, "I'm sorry I wasn't there."