Each pendant is unique, in that each was crafted by his own hands and hand-crafted tools. Deceptively delicate, they hold light within them, as if trapping it in their translucence.
He is not the sort of man to notice a woman frowning because she has noticed something that upsets her, but he does notice a fleeting change in the air around her. Hati considers this, and considers what she says, but again, says nothing. He drives, turns left, then right. Sometimes he does not know where he drives or what routes he takes; he simply goes. Mortals call it "auto-piloting" - but to where?
"You are welcome here," he says slowly, part growl, part exhale. He strikes a match on the side of his door, driving with one hand, lights a cigarette.
The lights outside and how they cast shadows in the back seat across Hecate's gentle face catches his attention once more, his hungry eyes glance into the rear view mirror once more. He could turn around and look at her, but he does not - not to avoid a head on collision but rather, there is something about mirrors, superstitions. Would she even be there if he looks over his shoulder?
"Somewhere near, or somewhere far - there is no direction," he says, likely not in the most sensible manner.