The Drifter more or less fires off a line of question marks, their head tilting to one side. Everyone else is vague enough to imply that she merely has people she knows, friends she must have made, and they have to order their thoughts to be directed forth in a relatively intelligible fashion: the sensation of not being bitterly alone, here, of having made friends in abundance despite all odds, warring with the idea that others from one's world have been known to manifest in the archipelago as well, on occasion.

Perhaps the impression she receives is confused and muddled as the Drifter is, but if she can parse it, perhaps that will be some consolation.