"Oh, sure." He puts his knuckles to his mouth in thought, frowning faintly past it. Around them, there is no open water left in sight: bodies have bobbed to every available inch of surface, and their little boat plows straight through the tumbling sea of corpses. This does not seem to bother him. "They've got a whole pantheon, here, and I wouldn't call Never Mind the local god of memory. He is king of understanding, of seeking and learning. Simply archiving past horrors would be more the domain of Remina, the Eye."

He turns a wry sort of look on her, dropping his hand as their boat continues to jostle among the corpses.

"But I suggest taking self-elected gods with a few large grains of salt."

She is not yet aware of all his titles; it's funny only to him.