Abigail might say it, then laugh about it, but she's entirely too occupied removing Raph's breeches. Truth is, she thinks she's rather lucky, too.

Superstitious Tortallan that she is, she should know better than to have such thoughts at a moment like this.

The breeches are kicked off, her skirts pushed out of the way, and she's kissing him again when something rips through the branches of a tree across the road; and laughs, the sound somehow grotesque.