The metaphorical curtains remain closed; there's no further trace offered of anything deeper than Troupe Master Grimm. He's amused by their curiosity regardless.

Grimm swishes both hands through the water as he turns to wade back towards the edge, dragging a furrowed wave and his floating wings behind him.

"My apologies, little shadow - and the rest! I have no doubt the Lord of Shades could wring out whatever information they liked, but I must ask for patience. It is an unusual thing indeed for the summoner to be so well-acquainted with me before the denouement."

He pauses at the edge of the spring, and glances down and to one side.

"I suppose there is no reason to hurry back with the summoner thus occupied," he reasons. "The show cannot go on without both roles filled..."

Then he turns, settles down, and stretches out in the glowing water with his back against the side. His spindly arms unfold to rest languidly along the fringe.

And, finally, asks the question he wants to ask.

"How fares our child in the interim?"