Normally, her uneasy attempt at humor might have made him tone himself down immediately, but he wasn't in the mood to laugh or try to formulate some clever quip in return. He could both smell and see in her body language an air of uneasiness about her, which wasn't unusual. Most were intimidated by him even before hearing about what he was.
So the boozy stretchy dwarf had come through. Or, as he had read, the trick rider had cut some sort of deal. She kept babbling on to him, chirruping like a little bird, while he stood stock still, expression remaining frozen in disinterest. Ivarr was so uncomfortable and tired that he couldn't bring himself to care, even though he knew that the whiskey was quality and he should be excited. It was ultimately the hint of expectant hope in her tone that wound its way into the thick soup that his brain felt like at the moment that got him to agree. "Fine." Ivarr shook his head a little as if to clear it. "Just give me a minute."
He turned to River, guiding her toward her stall with one hand on her shoulder, fingers splayed against her mud covered fur, muttering to her in Scots Gaelic about how he would be back later. After he slid her door closed and pulled the sash of his bathrobe tighter around his waist, he turned back to Winny. "Okay, come on." As he came up next to her, he was again amazed by how tiny she was. The horses must like it, having a rider so small and light that she wouldn't hinder their movements that much.
Ivarr led her on the familiar route to the river, padding barefoot, still in just his robe. He could hear the sound of it first, the rushing of water, before they came upon it. The bank on their side of the river was muddy and covered in hoof marks and evidence of horses rolling. "Here we are. I was cooling off the horses a bit ago." He wiped sweat from his forehead again and sighed. "You know they had us in Russia before this? What a brutal and unfair change," he complained.