Thor laughs, both because he absolutely could take her barehanded if allowed to use his lightning, and because that smile is so very Sif that for a moment it's as if she'd never lost her memories at all, reminding him of the days when they would take turns trouncing each other in the training yard.

As for Thor, his hand still longs for a hammer, but not just any hammer will do. A sword is better for now - familiar enough, but not as beloved, letting him focus far more on readjusting to the flow of combat than on his weapon. He might be rustier if not for the few hours of practice he's managed down in the cargo hold of the Statesman, his muscle memory recalling old lessons and patterns, and he shifts into a stance to mirror hers, raising his eyebrows in challenge.

"By all means," he answers, and lunges forward to strike.

The first few blows are more cautious, experimental, gauging his reach and her responses, and finding them both to be slightly off from what he recalls. His own weakness stands out to him more, however, having to swiftly guess how far he has to reach to meet her blade and sometimes guessing wrong. Though what he lacks in accuracy, he makes up for in persistence, striking again as soon as he knows he's missed.