The heat made him feel like he wasn't himself. He wanted to crawl out of his own skin. Fidgeting where he stood just before the ground turned muddy, he tugged on the sash of his robe, then the neckline of it, feeling like it was soaking through with sweat. He wanted to tear it off, but then he'd be swinging in the breeze like they had talked about on the network.
Ivarr watched the small human approach the river, going barefoot into the mud without hesitation, really squishing down into it. Her verbal approval of his river soon followed, which did do something to soften him up a bit. He didn't really like being so grumpy in human form, like so many of his older counterparts. Ivarr wanted to be able to enjoy all of the new experiences he had as a bipedal. It was proving difficult that afternoon, though, the heat and humidity bearing down on him and sucking the life out of him. "It's okay, you don't have to swim." He stepped into the mud, coming closer, letting his own bare feet sink down into the damp earth. "I enjoyed Russia," he went on. "There we had the Wild Hunt. The one I told you about. I ate well. Now we have this doll nightmare." Taking a cup from her, he shrugged broad shoulders. "Classy isn't a thing I do anyway." That was in evidence, his hair a disheveled, dirty and sweaty mess, his robe just as filthy, and his skin covered in mud from his own roll in equine form. Luckily, that served to cover up the bruises that remained on his human form.
As he brought the cup of whiskey back toward himself, he offered her a ghost of a smile. Bringing it to his nose, he sniffed at it. It smelled like home. He took a sip and it was almost like being transported back. "It's from home," he murmured. "Somehow it got all the way here from home." His eyes went half-lidded and he actually felt content for a moment until he started plucking at his robe again where it was sticking to his chest. "Scotland in a cup!" He tipped his head back, taking a longer drink.