By no fault of her own, Vas was hidden from the very real, exposed nerve that she had touched by the Giant turning from her. How could the siren have known - they were not the type inclined toward such sentimentality in their friendship. She knew what was relevant. What was honest. But above all, what was immediate to them. They did not ruminate or reminisce, as mortals were wont to do.
His scent exhaled in an unsteady breath across the stallion’s nose, the mountain taking it into his hands. Through touch he could read a great deal; his Seidr pulsing from his bloodstream gentle as a flow of energy, giving back even as it took. The stallion was stock still for he. Eye to eye, head lowered and tilted for inspection, creature to King. The creature’s curiosity was something else entirely, vastly different from the calming, unflappable nature of Kitten.
It reminded him. Mouth thinning, even as joy swelled over the undercurrent of aches, the empty hole that sat on his chest. His response, when it came, was a thick husk,
“You honour mineself.” silence. Only the stock-still Giant, allowing the overjoyed mount, thrilled with the communication it was recieving, to press up to his chest, lipping at him. This needed further explaination, undoubtedly. Felt rude even, though he rarely felt it necessary to justify himself, to be shadowed by his stetson, “Forgive the inarticulation. I am unused to …”
What could he say. There was no silver-tongued phrase to cover what felt as if it could leap from his breastbone at any given breath.
Vasilija was not sure what to expect and therefore was neither surprised nor disappointed by the reaction she received. Even her usual confusion in the face of raw emotions, hidden or not, was missing. In reality, the trouble she had gone through to acquire this horse meant that anything other than stoic calm or displeasure was an accepted reaction. Expected, even. She took Hætta’s silence---his loss of speech---with pride and immense pleasure rather than confusion or hostility. While he processed this information, Vasilija watched him interact with his new stallion, intrigued by the care and attention given and received. Hætta’s ability with animals, specifically his steeds, had never gone unnoticed. Now, the siren watched with a veiled awe as man and beast’s silent interaction took place.
Out of curiosity and maybe even partial concern did Vasilija begin to slowly lean forward with the intent to see her companion’s face. Her own countenance was considerably softened, a rare moment of tenderness---she had given Hætta this gift not merely because Kitten needed retirement or because Kitten was too small for the bulk of the Jötunn, but because she was grateful to him in more ways than words could properly express. Words she wouldn’t be able to vocalize should she even try. This was her silent way of thanking him, of paying him back for the countless times he’d saved her ass or endured her unbridled chaos. It was a gift well deserved. And conveniently a useful one, too.
“You’re fine,” she hummed. “You don’t have to say a damn thing.”
