"Wh--" Greta starts, but any of the several questions she might have asked him is abruptly cut off as he tugs her forward. She glances back over her shoulder at the man who interrupted them, catching an impression of curly hair and a wispy mustache. Then she looks back up at the Balladeer in astonishment. "He's dead? But how…?" What sort of life has the Balladeer been leading? It's one thing to know history, it's quite another for history to know him, too. "Who is he?"