Moonsong Glacier rises the moon

He didn't have Dutch's way with words. He imagined the younger man would have something kind to say about the way the spirits moved, or how good things came to good people, or how the harvest moon had told him she would bear many children to a loyal and handsome hunter. He wanted to say something reassuring, something convincing —

What he wanted, really, was to lay the world at this woman's paws.

What he said was, "You will," with a peculiar kind of certainty. It would be crass to say that a woman as beautiful as her, who held such a position, could not hope to stay single for very long. Suitors would come from the woodwork to throw themselves at her mercy, and one of those was bound to be pleasing to her. The idea disquieted him, even as he tried to feel happy for her — something which he succeeded at through sheer, stubborn bullheadedness.

He made himself smile, and once his solemn expression had cracked, his solemn mood fell away with it.

"She's up there, usually," he said, pointing his nose toward Ariadne's resting place. "Easy to keep track of her while she's got just the three good legs." The delivery was dry and guileless. He pressed on without giving Vairë a chance to laugh, or worse, to not laugh. "Let me know if you wanna see those hotsprings sometime. I'll show you. Maybe you could bring some of your family."