Honeyed Pasture She just sleeps through the night

he gave a polite dip at her name before he followed. quiet. paws, though large, scarred, still gentle upon the earth below them. but her discomfort did not go unnoticed, and rökkur, ever the perceptive, thought to murmur a word, or three: are you okay? repeated from when he had spoken to her before—the first time.

but a few more followed. you do not have to answer, norse accent thick upon his pink tongue. you sounded sad, however. an invitation, though the words said in a way that suggested his cooperation, should she not wish to speak on it.

that did not mean, though, that he would not be curious.