Winny stepped back from him as he whirled to look at her. If she'd been in her horse form, her ears would have been flattened back out of fear but, as a human, she just froze, waiting it out. He was a murder horse, after all, and, since he managed the stables, he was kind of her boss. He was imposing even in his human form, tall and broad and unsmiling, and Winny only felt safe enough to move when he did, when he brought up his hand to run it through his long, dirty, sweat-dampened hair.
"Shorter than most, yup." She said, popping the p just for fun and to cover up her nervousness. "And you're taller than most. We'd average out to a normal-sized person, though." Her fingers curled tightly around the strap of her backpack over her shoulder and her nostrils flared slightly as she breathed in the scent of hay and dirt and horses, of family. It settled her, in the face of this strange man-slash-murder-horse, who was looking at her with his lips pursed in a flat line. River was a far nicer looking picture and Winny smiled at her softly.
Her face fell a bit when he told her to come back, fell in disappointment. She understood that the heat was an issue, for him, for the horses, but she'd had a whole plan worked out. She'd given up most of her weed and stolen snacks from the kitchens. But Winny could try to adapt. "That works." She chirped lightly. "I did bring whiskey for us, though. The stretchy dwarf ruined the surprise, I see, but it's Scottish whiskey. And I brought snacks. If you want, you could take me to the river, we could find some shade, and drink and eat?" She tried not to sound too hopeful but he was the only thing she had to a kindred spirit here, a horse, even though said horse drowned and ate people.