"Yes," she agrees, having not considered that strange magic. Creature of Wild Magic, untamed, she knows -- but only slightly, not as much as friend and mischief. "I am glad. Longer for me, perhaps?" she says, glancing up to him. It's hard to tell, with immortal friends. "I'm not sure how long, exactly, but it's been... oh, more than fifty years to me."

That she leans her shoulder against him still says something for how she's missed him. Fifty years and death have loosened Cora's careful proprietry some, but she is not one over-given to touch with friends not currently in cat-form.