Will, in the process of dishing up a plate for Clio, looked up as she returned with Ben close behind.
Will had no frame of reference for a god like Ben, an immortal shaped by modern technology and instant communication, rather than by generation on generation of ballad and legend and prayer. He didn't know what to expect. Something a little more polished, a little less human, perhaps.
But the man who followed Clio into the kitchen was, at least at a first glance, smiling and unassuming. Nothing to set him apart from any bloke in the street, aside from the weight of his presence. Oh yes, there was no mistaking his divinity; the belief hung thick around him in a way Will rarely encountered these days.
Contained, though, Will noted. He didn't use it to loom.
Again it struck him that a god like Ben could be a very valuable ally, or a very dangerous adversary.
He finished spooning the hollandaise over Clio's food then set the plate down on the table, before offering Ben his hand to shake, expression friendly but cautious. "Will Stutely. We appreciate your offering to help."