"home safe?" he should have announced himself to the goddess, shouldn't he? jason would claim it was simply in his nature to be a little abrupt, but the truth was: reyna's presence was one of comfort, like the inexplicable but powerful call to the safety of home, and as such, he often forgot to say hello when he was simply too excited to see her and speak to her.
as protector of the damned, it was nice for jason — bracingly nice — to spend time with someone whose charges were blessed with victory, peace, and . . . the pleasure of being welcomed back.
his expression is nothing short of gleeful when he smiles at her. "i thought i sensed your return. or maybe i just heard a commotion in the stables — well? how was it? was there celebrating — was there a toast to the hero's happy return, to you? tell me everything!"
“greetings,” the goddess calls, a salutation in response to his question which seemed to be in lieu of his. it’s of no matter to her, long since having grown to expect such a sudden and warm welcome from this particular god — a fellow protector of heroes. they get along well.
helmet is tucked under one arm, revealing reyna’s face, shining with a satisfactory smile. her return can only mean one thing: the homecoming of yet another hero, safely delivered back into the arms of their loved ones, their countrymen, with victory in their wake.
she can’t help her laughter at the other’s eagerness. what simple joy there is in such things, to witness a hero’s safe and happy return. reyna holds up a hand, trying to wave away his many questions, but it’s a wasted effort. she won’t get away without recounting nearly every detail — and for a god who’s domain is fraught with far more tragedies than hers ever is, the least reyna feels she can do is share in some of her glories.
“many celebrations, many toasts — even i lost track by the end there. but i did hear talk of a pasture to be set aside in my honor, one that they plan to fill with tamed horses. you know what that means, right?” her heart swells with the hope that coincides with every hero’s return, that faint sliver of longing for a champion to finally find rest. a fond expression falls on reyna’s face: no one breaks horses just to send them off to die in battle. it is a gentle art, the occupation of peacetime. “their fight is over, for now. i expect them to enjoy a period of peace for quite some time.”