[His eyes do follow her now when she steps out of the basin and covers herself again. He does move, but only to shift closer and rest shoulder-to-shoulder with her. He radiates warmth and allows it to spread over them both, to accompany the welcoming heat of the fire. He gazes upon her not possessively, but protectively, as someone to shield rather than something to covet.

And when he leans in, it is not for foul intent, but to whisper words that ring very much lik gossip.]

He threw the bull she sicked upon us back at her. At least part of it.

[And then he breaks into a grin that makes him thousands of years younger in a span of a breath, filled with childlike enthusiasm, a nostalgia that reached back longer than her kingdom ever even existed.

Or any kingdom, for that matter.]

It hit her in the face, and she ran and cried all the way home, the old sow! Hahahahaha...!

[Why is he laughing? What is there to laugh about? Only everything, some mad part of him figures.]