"Völva, Triodia, Spákona," he mutters under his breath as his gaze flickers across the streets and cars before him. His face is expressive as he muses on all the many names for the likes of Hekate, she of the witching hour. "Many names, all have many names, many places." Slurred not as if he were drunk but as if he were speaking to himself.
He glances up at the mirror and over his shoulder at her the moment her fingers brush against his shoulder. His stare is hungry but curious. The corners of his mouth twitch - a smile? He does smile, sometimes, but it is not a gentle smile. Skoll smiles more gently than he, for Skoll has mastered the art of blending more than Hati has. Hati could give a shit about blending, really. He is wearing a t-shirt that has been worn thin, and black - the fabric feels so worn it is beyond soft.
"Home?" He will turn soon, start the gradual trek to where home is for her. Home could mean so many things. But he remembers, in hazy, half-remembered memories, where home is, for her.