It bothers Loki, as well. He's not sure yet whether the lost arm troubles him more or less than the eye. The eye gave Thor a visage entirely too reminiscent of Odin. The arm is a bigger loss, but Loki's shamanic tendencies are such that he's inclined to believe it's at least part of what bought the lives of these three-hundred-and-fourteen refugees. Some day he might tease Thor for continually losing bits of himself, but that day is a long way off yet, and Loki is more than a little afraid of losing Thor in his entirety.

At least he is not so afraid that he's failed to recall his brother's feelings on tea. The milk was what he really wanted him to drink, to replenish lost blood and give him a bit of protein. Putting it in tea just means he gets to watch Thor make faces as he drinks it. And, really, after all he's done and as nice as he's been today, Loki thinks he deserves that amusement.

When Thor emerges and comes to sit near the baby, Solvi gives him a subtle once-over look, and then smiles and turns back the lacy coverlet so he can see the sleepy little face. The infant is a bit bigger, and has more hair, and there are little mittens on her hands with pink owls on them, to keep her from scratching herself with tiny fingernails.

Loki, meanwhile, puts dishes away in the kitchen, washes his hands thoroughly, and then comes into the room and drops lightly to sit on the floor amongst the children, as if it's nothing at all unusual for a prince of Asgard to roll around on the carpet. "Where's your bunny gone, then?" He asks the littlest boy. "Did it hop away? Has a fox eaten it?"

The dusky-skinned boy points mutely under one of the chairs, while the toddler looks quizzical.

"He likes to put it under things," the girl says. "I don't know why."

"Is the bunny hiding?" Loki asks the toddler, petting his hair.