[Aha! These are being freely offered, and are therefore not off limits. Svalinn wastes no time in putting his nose in and taking a tentative taste. Barok makes a noise of some agitation at lurch and the fact that he can do little to nothing about it.]

... Allow me to express gratitude on his behalf.

[At this point he does finally dismount while keeping the reins in his hand, his iron-heeled boots hitting the cobble heavily. It would be difficult to pull her up from that position, after all. He gives the horse a pointed look. Svalinn pretends not to notice.]

Perhaps the rest might be offered... after we've reached our destination.