Re: The Cat: Rae and Kratos
Many men, and gods, had tried to move Kratos when Kratos would not move. They had found it... difficult.
Kratos examined her face, the expression on it. He knew that the gods here were attempting to learn about him, for whatever odd reasons of their own, their petty power struggles. He was often a tool in these. It would be safer to tell her nothing. "The red, my brother had, also. Naturally." He lifted the glass. It was because he enjoyed the feel of his own language on his tongue too much. He forgot how much, until he heard her speak it. He drank, smacked his lips gently as the refreshing familiarity washed down his throat, and then set the glass down. "Those..." and here he glanced at his forearms, what was visible of them. It was usually dark hair and sleeves, trademarks of humanity, to hide the old struggles. "I did. In a way."
Kratos pointed a large flat-nailed finger at her glass. "That is strong," he said in English. "To be drunk. This is to drink." Indicating his own.
"Your mother, then." He thought this claim would be significantly needling to require correction.