Bertolt is indeed halfway between sitting and standing, frozen as if moving might scare Annie into silence. His surprise is apparent, that Legend-brightness having faded from his eyes, leaving them easy to read. But alongside his surprise is another smile, broader than before but just as sincere.

Has he ever heard Annie speak so enthusiastically about anything? He can't recall. Maybe when they were children, back in those days before they left for Paradis. But even then, Bertolt doubts it. He thinks he'd have remembered such a thing, burned it into his mind as one sweet memory among so many sour ones.

Speaking of which, he had no idea Annie had a sweet tooth. Would he have ever discovered that back in their world?

Suddenly, he feels a swell of gratitude toward the Fox. Not for his own arrival here, although he's grateful for that, too; he wanted nothing more than to end the slaughter, and the Fox allowed him to step away. No, he's grateful that the Fox brought Annie here. He's grateful that she's able to try so many different sweet things.

If this world can make Annie sound so excited, it can't possibly be bad.

Bertolt nods, rising fully to his feet, still smiling. "Yeah. I'd like that. And … I am grateful."

For Annie trudging across a bog, he means—but really, it goes far deeper than that. He's grateful that she's here. He's grateful that she found him. He's grateful that neither of them has to fight Marley's wars anymore. He's grateful that he gets to learn new things about her. He's grateful that he can hear her voice rise with enthusiasm.

His eyes dart to the side, slightly embarrassed, as he adds, "I'll go get our drinks."