Not for the first time, Thor is grateful for Hephaestus's craftsmanship. The fingers of his prosthetic hand are nearly as deft as the living one, gently combing out her hair so it lays flat and straight before he begins separating locks for weaving. There are a few styles he knows, some more suited for her than others may be, but he has a feeling she may like this one, using the last bit of her ribbons to tie it off at the end.

Una's eyes glint fiercely at this suggestion, a look that may very well be mischievous if not for the fact that an adult endorsed this plan, therefore it must be above-board. "I bet he likes apples. Horses are 'sposed to like apples. But we don't have any gold ones."

"I'm sure Fjodrflotti won't be too picky," Thor assures her with a faint chuckle.