In the old days, Thor might have been embarrassed to call upon his lesser-used magics, the inheritance from his mother more suited for a daughter than a son, and something that had earned him some good-natured teasing at his expense when he was still a boy. But since Ragnarok... since the Statesman... it hasn't seemed to matter as much anymore. Especially not today.

Later, he'll think it strange that he has no reservations about using this feminine magic in front of others, but with this unnatural boost to his mood comes a strange inability to question it at all. He has not felt this good in a long time now, still a far cry from what he once was, but pulled free from the mire of his guilt and grief as Pamela's pheromones circulate within him. Thor's smile is shy, but pleased, watching her reaction. And while he has no idea what Harley is forbidding her from doing, it doesn't matter enough for him to ask.

What matters is he helped. He did something good, something that will lead to more food for his people, and he didn't screw it up.

He kneels next to the others by the dirt, ready to continue. Ready to do something, in a way he has not been in weeks. "What's next?"