Sif lets her fingers brush over the wood of the gunwale as the boat is pushed away, out into the cool embrace of the ocean. It leaves her feeling strangely hollow, to think that the lives of three such men could be contained in so small a vessel. She knows Thor must feel the same way, and surely he feels it more strongly even than she does, because he has not forgotten them the way she has.
Water sloshes around their ankles, the pebbles of the beach crunching under their feet as they make their way back up to the fireside. She accepts the bow from him, and the arrow, reaching past them to hold his hand and squeeze it tight for a moment. In spite of her inability to remember their friends, her presence seems to give him some small comfort, and that lightens her heart in turn. It's not much she can offer him, but at least he's not alone. At least he's with someone who has always been there for him, whether she knows it or not. "Let us hope, then, that my arms have not forgotten as much as my mind has."
They haven't, of course. If the battle to retrieve supplies during the winter had proved anything about her, it was this. Sif is more than capable as a fighter with her blades, and even though she is as of yet untested with a bow, it is no different. The arrow lights up in a bright flash when she dips it into the fire, but she doesn't aim it just yet, not until Thor finishes speaking.
She, too, steps forward, and again, a few paces ahead of him.
"Farewell my friends, and go thee well," she says. "Remember me in the golden halls, until I remember you again. Await me in Valhalla, until our enemies have been vanquished and I may rightly take my place among you." Her breath trembles as she exhales, and her eyes squeeze shut until the tightness in her chest passes. Lifting her head, she nocks the arrow and draws the bowstring. The arrow soars through the darkened sky like a shooting star, landing with a distant thud on the platform and setting ablaze the tokens of their friends. Without turning, she shuffles back until she and Thor are side-by-side, and she takes his hand in hers.
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Water sloshes around their ankles, the pebbles of the beach crunching under their feet as they make their way back up to the fireside. She accepts the bow from him, and the arrow, reaching past them to hold his hand and squeeze it tight for a moment. In spite of her inability to remember their friends, her presence seems to give him some small comfort, and that lightens her heart in turn. It's not much she can offer him, but at least he's not alone. At least he's with someone who has always been there for him, whether she knows it or not. "Let us hope, then, that my arms have not forgotten as much as my mind has."
They haven't, of course. If the battle to retrieve supplies during the winter had proved anything about her, it was this. Sif is more than capable as a fighter with her blades, and even though she is as of yet untested with a bow, it is no different. The arrow lights up in a bright flash when she dips it into the fire, but she doesn't aim it just yet, not until Thor finishes speaking.
She, too, steps forward, and again, a few paces ahead of him.
"Farewell my friends, and go thee well," she says. "Remember me in the golden halls, until I remember you again. Await me in Valhalla, until our enemies have been vanquished and I may rightly take my place among you." Her breath trembles as she exhales, and her eyes squeeze shut until the tightness in her chest passes. Lifting her head, she nocks the arrow and draws the bowstring. The arrow soars through the darkened sky like a shooting star, landing with a distant thud on the platform and setting ablaze the tokens of their friends. Without turning, she shuffles back until she and Thor are side-by-side, and she takes his hand in hers.