As expected, the Greek woman that talked way too much but delivered baskets of sweets to his door with a frequency that one would think she was bringing them to an ill or cantankerous grandparents' house to cheer them up, made a beeline for him. He wasn't sure what she was expecting: some wisdom on the situation? Protection from the impending doom?
She was strangely silent, however. Enlil looked down at her discreetly, unaccustomed to a lack of babble and nonsense, and tried to decide what she wanted by the handful of words she did utter.
Interesting.
“Apparently, my niece is intending to kill that impetuous Egyptian alley cat,” he said in a very level tone with little concern for the safety of any around him. “Given how difficult she is to anger, I would lay money that the feral one pressed her too far, probably something to do with that boy she's so touchy about.”
Enlil pointed over to Kratos. “He's bleeding. My niece will be out for blood. As she should be. As would be my sister, my mother, my wife, or any good woman of Sumer in a similar situation.” Then he shrugged. “I have no idea, nor care, what the mad son of Zeus is doing in the midst of it all.”
He gaze turned back to the chaos and returned to watching it with the sort of expression one would have watching a particularly entrancing television program.