For what feels like an eternity, all Vodnik can hear is his own beating heart pounding in his ears. He clearly shocked Macabre with that last confession, as much as he shocked himself. Were his face not covered in fur, there would be color rising in his cheeks. Instead he looks past the trees to his left and into the hazy daylight beyond. His ears swivel, listening to nothing in particular. Anything to avoid seeing whatever judgement is undoubtedly rising in Macabre's expression.

She stumbles over an equally as awkward response. Vodnik coughs, clearing his damaged throat, and filling the silence that follows with whatever noise is most convenient to make. It is then that he chances a glance in the red mare's direction. Vodnik's pulse, already racing to outrun his nerves, is quickened further by her then unexpected approach.

In this close proximity her scent overwhelms him. Vodnik must resist and urge to reach out and pull her closer. The resistance rocks him back, and creates tension that gathers the muscles in his neck. He is glad when she changes the subject.

"Of course.", Vodnik calmly agrees. He lingers only a moment longer before uttering a terse command, "Follow me." and turning briskly on is haunch. The stone cold warrior has returned.

Vodnik leads them back up the path that brought them to the creek. His strength can be seen working under a glossy, bay coat as he launches himself up the hill they slid down only minutes before. Broad hooves cut into the eroded earth. He must move quickly to keep from sliding back down with the earth giving way beneath him.

He waits only a moment for Macabre to catch up before plowing on through the undergrowth. His course first takes them south, away from the best vantage point, but Vodnik knows these trails better than he knows himself.