Re: The Cat: Rae and Kratos
The drink and conversation were in their own small way, pieces of a whole. Rae liked to know the people who thought they knew her, or at least to own as many pieces of them as they did her. This man knew her, enough to fit her within a language long dead. He'd called her a witch and she wasn't that, but there was no word for what she was, a suspension between life and life-everlasting. Rae rarely called herself a goddess; a goddess had a realm, and she didn't intend to visit Fólkvangr. It would wait, as most things would.
She played on the thread of connection, the warm glow of her smile summer heat. "Eleven, darling." The correction was English, but she slid sideways into Greek as easily as stepping into warm water. "He is half, then." She said it without knowing half what, but the boy was suddenly very much of interest, given he was a meld between Greek and Norse. Perhaps he spoke both, perhaps he was a product of an austere, very solidly-built father.
She looked him over. If the boy was as solidly built, she felt token sympathy for his mother.