It does make her a bit more sympathetic to know he went through anything similar to her. She doubts it was same circumstances, but almost drowning on its own is terrifying enough.

"Hm," she hums, losing focus a little as another wave of poison-induced nausea comes over her. "How do you run out of magic power?" But even as she asks, she points in the vague direction of which house is hers. No rose bushes in the front, no, but there is a lot of pink from the curtains to the little painted embellishments on the windows.