Witch's Marsh please let me blaze

There was a hot sensation in her chest that seemed to bloom at his speech. A feeling like pride, and perhaps it was just that. Or awe at his ability to adapt. She had not even tried to speak his language (truthfully, she was not entirely sure where one would start) and yet he took like a duck to water with her explanations. A ghost of a smile lingered on her pale cheeks.

I give words to my gods as well. It is to pray. Was the connection clearer for Gleipnir now? Perhaps the one word would be easier than a whole sentence.

For a moment she wishes to keep him near to her, move through the lands with him. Such a funny thought after she had been overcome with fear. It had faded into a softness though, diluted by realizing he might be a stranger in even stranger lands. They know each other though. At least a touch.

Home? Place to go to?