[Used to living in a single, hay-lined stall, Hayame has never thought the accommodations small in size aboard the Hathaway ship. Her sense of discomfort and suffocation came from the space outside, the lack of lengths to gallop, not their quarters... but when one puts a human bed into the equation, it seems small indeed, and nowhere to sit or stand seems a proper enough distance away to not remind her that she was in a bedchamber. In a man's bedchamber. In Odinson's.

A place she has slunk to in the middle of the night, like a secret lover from the stories of the nobility in the capital. That does not escape her.

Though he clears the chair, before he can finish she is already going to her knees, a motion that would surely have toppled her on the first day, but that she manages with only a slight wobble, a quick brace of her palm on the floor before she smooths her robe closed about her lap and places the cloth package down in front of her before she bows deeply, eyes closed, braid tumbling over her shoulder as she dips nearly to the floor.]

My growing ease in this body is in part thanks to your guidance, for which you have my gratitude.

[To admit the weakness had been shameful and difficult, but she could not neglect what must come after.]

Please allow me to gift you with a small token. It is the least I can do.