"Well –" Loki's tongue stalled out, then, leaving his brain to backpedal. What did he expect to do? Fuck. Best to start innocuously, then:
"I haven't ridden in some years," he warned, then shrugged and continued, idly wrapping the loose end of Jotnar's leash around his hand. "My step-mother's family has horses, and a fair bit of land in England." (Understatement.) "So when we moved out there, she taught me about horses, and how to ride them; it's been a good twenty years or so, now. I went away to school not too long after, but the schools often enough had riding available, and of course I'd go back over summers, breaks, and the occasional weekend." (Very occasional.) "I managed to help salvage a fellow who'd been rather miserably treated and – well, mistreated, really, he'd never been trained and then was expected to act as if he had been, and sold along when he acted out. Understandable, it seemed to me, but I couldn't bring him here, when I moved, and so it's been five years or so since I've ridden at all."
He wilted, a little, at the last, not least because he was running out of ideas of what to say. "I miss it," he tried. "And I cannot bear the idea of the – the resort horseback riding experience."