Sif stands ankle-deep in the water of the little bay where she first arrived in the Nexus, silhouetted against the fading sun as the stars slowly wheel overhead. It is appropriate, then, that their friends be laid to rest here, as she's been told there was no ocean before she came, and even she knows that it isn't proper to lay the dead to rest without sending them out to sea for their final rites.
Her throat is tight with an unspeakable sadness, unable to reconcile her feelings with her memories. The grief she feels over the loss of Asgard is one that is both easy to understand and difficult to account for. She is untethered from that world, adrift in a universe without a place to truly belong, and what she remembers of Asgard is conceptual rather than concrete. The memories must be there, though, or it wouldn't hurt like this. Would it?
More than anything, she wishes she could recall the faces of the men whose tokens lie in the belly of their little canoe. They had been her friends for centuries, she is told, and she knows that it will hurt all the more when she does remember them and all the adventures they shared. Her fingers brush over the cloth and the weapons, and she wonders which one of them she was closest to? Which of them she would have gone to for advice, or who came to her when they needed an ear or a shoulder? Did they know her secrets, and she theirs? Would tokens representing her be arranged in this boat if she'd been on Asgard instead of some unknown realm forgetting herself?
She isn't sure if she's ready to say goodbye while she still doesn't completely grasp what she's lost, but she looks to Thor where he stands across from her and nods. "I suppose it's time," she says somewhat haltingly, grasping the gunwale. Together they'll push the little ship off when he gives the signal.
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Her throat is tight with an unspeakable sadness, unable to reconcile her feelings with her memories. The grief she feels over the loss of Asgard is one that is both easy to understand and difficult to account for. She is untethered from that world, adrift in a universe without a place to truly belong, and what she remembers of Asgard is conceptual rather than concrete. The memories must be there, though, or it wouldn't hurt like this. Would it?
More than anything, she wishes she could recall the faces of the men whose tokens lie in the belly of their little canoe. They had been her friends for centuries, she is told, and she knows that it will hurt all the more when she does remember them and all the adventures they shared. Her fingers brush over the cloth and the weapons, and she wonders which one of them she was closest to? Which of them she would have gone to for advice, or who came to her when they needed an ear or a shoulder? Did they know her secrets, and she theirs? Would tokens representing her be arranged in this boat if she'd been on Asgard instead of some unknown realm forgetting herself?
She isn't sure if she's ready to say goodbye while she still doesn't completely grasp what she's lost, but she looks to Thor where he stands across from her and nods. "I suppose it's time," she says somewhat haltingly, grasping the gunwale. Together they'll push the little ship off when he gives the signal.