They all have so little to smile about these days, but Thor cannot help but respond on reflex, a ghost of a smile as he nods back. It's enough that he doesn't have to convince her of the need for action, and a guilty pang slips under his ribs as he wonders if Eir would have let him off so easily.
Something he hopes he will learn, if - when - the other survivors are found.
Under better circumstances, if Thor still felt capable of his usual unfailing optimism, he might point out that things that would be disasters are averted because of better preparation, or something of the like. But right now, he's more inclined to just agree, sentiment and all, because months of knowing this was coming had done nothing to stop it, and now...
There are too many who paid for his failure with their lives. He can never forget that, the weight of it crushing down on him at every turn, and all he can do is distract himself as best he can, and find comfort in what little scraps are left. "It's inconsiderate at best," he says, because if he says anything else, he is bound to hurt Fǫnn and Loki both, whether he means to or not.
To his credit, he does look slightly sheepish this time when Loki brings up the axe, his own eye involuntarily going to where Stormbreaker sits in the corner. "It worked, didn't it?" he says, shrugging with his good shoulder. It matters very little to him that he could've died, that he nearly did. Desperation had driven him to the brink, out of time and with no other options, and Thor would do it again without hesitation. It was not the axe that had failed the universe, in the end.
"Anyway, this is different," he continues, before Loki can object further. "A friend of a friend, who's made works for gods before. He knows what he's doing; I'll be fine."
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Something he hopes he will learn, if - when - the other survivors are found.
Under better circumstances, if Thor still felt capable of his usual unfailing optimism, he might point out that things that would be disasters are averted because of better preparation, or something of the like. But right now, he's more inclined to just agree, sentiment and all, because months of knowing this was coming had done nothing to stop it, and now...
There are too many who paid for his failure with their lives. He can never forget that, the weight of it crushing down on him at every turn, and all he can do is distract himself as best he can, and find comfort in what little scraps are left. "It's inconsiderate at best," he says, because if he says anything else, he is bound to hurt Fǫnn and Loki both, whether he means to or not.
To his credit, he does look slightly sheepish this time when Loki brings up the axe, his own eye involuntarily going to where Stormbreaker sits in the corner. "It worked, didn't it?" he says, shrugging with his good shoulder. It matters very little to him that he could've died, that he nearly did. Desperation had driven him to the brink, out of time and with no other options, and Thor would do it again without hesitation. It was not the axe that had failed the universe, in the end.
"Anyway, this is different," he continues, before Loki can object further. "A friend of a friend, who's made works for gods before. He knows what he's doing; I'll be fine."