[Noel follows her gaze to the windmill, letting thoughts turn over in his mind at the same time. A month? And the way she says "locals"...makes him wonder if their circumstances are the same, or at least similar. So he's not the only sinner in this place.]

Then you must be from somewhere else, too. Am I right? A different world. Did you get dropped here with a piece of paper, too?

[Maybe he's being kind of brusque -- if he knows it, he's not shying away from it. Five hundred years has apparently not instilled any sense of patience in him.]