Things do die when they are killed, typically. And smashing cats is not great. It's a metaphor, she knows, on a far greater scale than her own shop cats knocking the occasional book over... but still. Joanna's ears flick backwards as she listens, despite her trying to hold a smile through this.

"Like a cat, hmm...? The sleepy kind, I would say." She reaches up behind her ear, on the side nearer to Garrot, and scratches until it relaxes. "No wonder she's wearing pajamas, and looking so... mmm, tired and smug."

It's a strange combination of expressions that the Wizard's been wearing. And maybe foreboding, when she lays it out like that. Is the Wizard tired of this yearly dance, yet feeling secure that this set of knights won't stand up to the trials...?