Only weeks old, and already little Jorunn looks so different from when Thor first held her. He's careful not to jostle the crib as he leans in closer to marvel at how much she's grown, how healthy she looks. Such a small thing to stand against the deep darkness that gnaws at him, but rather like a tender new sprout after a raging wildfire, potential for growth and recovery in the wake of something terrible and devastating, if properly nurtured and protected.

"She's doing so well," he says, keeping his voice low to avoid disturbing the baby, and gives Solvi a small smile. "She's going to take after her mother, I think."

It's oddly endearing to see his brother sitting on the floor among the children as if he were simply the largest child here, playful seriousness in his tone as he addresses the littlest boy, who Thor presumes is Eindrid. Too young for coherent speech yet, possibly, not that Loki seems to mind either way. The girl, he recognizes as the one who was holding little Jorunn when he first arrived, which means she must be Sigrid.

They all look so comfortable with him there, already a fixture in their lives, and Thor can't help the twinge of desperate gratitude for it. It's not difficult to imagine how things would have ended if the Nexus hadn't been an option, or if the refugees hadn't found friendly arms waiting on the other side. But here they sit, safe and cared for, under Loki's watchful eye.

"At least you know where to start looking," he comments, a trace of amusement in his voice.