Baba Yaga's words sparkled like the surface of the stream, and Hasan's immediate reaction was to smile. But there was something—perhaps the slightest edge, the slightest falseness to her words—that made his smile fade as quickly as it had come. He licked at the last few beads of moisture on his lips, buying himself a moment of time to process his feelings. It was early in the morning: he was not fully awake, and he could have been reading into something that was not there.

"I am well, thank you," he replied, his voice deep and groggy with sleep. Briefly his thoughts darted back to Shenzi. Undoubtedly Baba Yaga was aware of the mare's presence by now, and Hasan thought of telling her all that had elapsed between them, but something held him back.

His pink nostrils flared, drinking in Baba Yaga's scent. She smelled of health, and of the Forest: nothing that should have been a cause for concern. Yet Hasan's mind turned back to several times in the recent past when he'd come across her scent intermingled with sweat and blood and the musk of strangers. All together they had painted violent pictures in his mind. Hasan knew there were risks to leading a territory, and he had never felt it was his place to poke his nose into Baba Yaga's business, especially when he would likely be of little aid. Besides, Baba Yaga did her job well, for Hasan never felt threatened in the Forest. To him it was the same peaceful refuge it had always been.

Why, then, did he worry? He wondered, sometimes, if the mare had any confidants among the herd. Perhaps, if he could offer nothing else, he could offer that.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but I sense… not all is well with you. I am here, Yaga, if you need a listening ear."

His own ears twitched atop his head with rapt attention.