Hecate stares and is so fixated that for a moment she does not notice Hati's touch. It is rare though and soon the warmth of large hands wears through her reverie and she is startled not by his grasp but by the touch itself. He has only touched her a few times and then only in the confines of the 'game' one which has had its rules changed in intervening time. Time always changes things and she is not disturbed by it.
Her own hand flutters faintly, like a caught bird, too frightened to fly away. Then it comes to rest upon his wrist, fingers curled to feel the pulse of his heart, the rush of hot blood. She's lifted, drawn up and she feels for a moment weightless. Blue eyes, gone silver in the moonlight look up to his own, searching his face for a moment as if to divine his intent. She is not afraid, even should he fling her into the water, she is not afraid. She is a witch, like no other, worshiped even now. More powerful than words and threats and remembered old things like the others of her kin. Yet her power is soft, is dark, is gentle, like she, not used to frighten or threaten. It enfolds her, much like the grasp that Hati has upon her too.
He will not let her fall and she believes that. Her own hands lift, one to brush briefly past his cheek, then curl with it's mate over his shoulders. He will not let her fall and so she can lean back, arch her spine and turn back so that her dark hair spills towards the water and sky and darkness meet beneath.
"Managarm, reminder." she whispers, thoughtful. "Of a lover once had, reminder needed of Angrboda." Her tone is almost amused, soft and just a little more ominous than before. "I forget sometimes you are not a lonely creature like myself." she turns her head away from him and looks to the water below, then removes her arms from his shoulder and lets him go.