Odin can see the woman coming through, and she’s pretty. She’s pretty, and she has these great big eyes… yes, Odin can tell that from here. The strange eyes, the eyes that can see the stars and tell their stories and… right. The eyes of a god, the eyes of all the gods, like the ones that Odin had. He watches the woman, tail wagging, and he barks. It’s a low, brassy sound that fills the air around him and his lungs and everything is beautiful. Odin cannot help that beauty. It’s ethereal, a sort of ranging and glowing sound.

His posture is square, eyes bright, tail wagging. Yes, he’d watched her romp, and she had this way about her. Odin wonders, fleetingly, if she’s like theirs in kind. Though most carry the mark in their eyes like he does, it can be other places. There’s a feeling of knowing that the guide of souls can feel. It warms his belly, and he wonders… he wonders where else the mark can show up on their kind. Shining black pelt, laying close to his frame, catches the breeze as she smiles. What a strange coincidence, and Odin finds himself smiling back. It’s hard not to smile back.

The words that roll off her tongue are ones that he understands. It’s an understanding that he will allow to sweep over his body, even if it’s vague and slightly far away. A grasp on what she’s doing—her name. She’s told him her name, and that much he can get. All of the languages that dance within the starlit man’s head, trying to figure out if he can reply in hers… and finds himself… right. Though he can get bits, it’s only in understanding. “Hello, Quetza.” Though the words are in the common tongue of the land, he tries to piece together and mirror what she’s given him. “S-soy Odin.” A stutter, the word not tasting right, but he’s made the attempt.