Though the once-handsome beast shies away from Signy's hand at first, he does stop; her voice is familiar to him, as his rider had been to her.  He snorts softly, his flanks only lightly scarred, the blood long dried, the wounds healing better than on many.<br/><br/>After a moment the horse lowers his head, tiredly, his eyes drooping, and he sniffs the young mystic's hand.  He pushes at her hand, seeking an apple, or a bit of dried honey.  The horse remains and other people look on, awed by Signy's willingness to approach the strange, silent animals.<br/><br/>Gautirr lowered the knife he'd been using to cut the meat and shook his head, sighing.  "We shan't be staying long.  Whatever moves, moves closer, and it may come here sooner rather than later."  He looked at the other men, even those who might have stayed otherwise.  Now, it was becoming too dangerous.