It takes him a moment to study her face and make sure that she is truly teasing before Thor relaxes slightly. "My first was rougher than this, but at least it had a hand." And thank the Norns for that, because if he'd had to hold open the forge's iris with a hook, he has no doubt that it never would've made it past the initial blast of the star.
He has, of course, received advice on caring for his stump from Fǫnn soon after his initial injury, and later Eir when she'd had a chance to look over her apprentice's skilled handiwork. But there is a difference between a healer's knowledge, earned through study and treating these types of wounds, and someone who has firsthand experience themselves, who shares the same loss of limb and has lived with it for many years. It's more personal, warrior to warrior, in a way that puts him oddly more at ease talking about it.
Like when it comes to feeling pain from a limb that is no longer there, for instance. It's something he'd once thought reserved for those who are going mad, and admitting to it still makes him wonder if he isn't, at times. "Sometimes," he says hesitantly. "Not often. But every now and then, I can still feel my fingers." It's disconcerting at best, though as Hephaestus had promised, it never happens while he's wearing the arm.
The way she pauses makes Thor want to take back what he'd asked, worried that he's overstepped his familiarity, misjudged her mood or... something. But before the silence can stretch on too long, she begins to tell her story, and then all he can do is listen and give her tale the respect it is due.
He'd expected to hear of hardship, and knowing a little of the way people treat each other on her Earth - the way women are treated - it doesn't shock him to hear the truth. But his mouth narrows to a grim line, the uncomfortable familiarity of it churning in his stomach. Not the same. But similar enough. And she'd been through all that as a child. "I'm sorry." Thor draws his knees up toward his chest, and loosely wraps his arm around them.
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He has, of course, received advice on caring for his stump from Fǫnn soon after his initial injury, and later Eir when she'd had a chance to look over her apprentice's skilled handiwork. But there is a difference between a healer's knowledge, earned through study and treating these types of wounds, and someone who has firsthand experience themselves, who shares the same loss of limb and has lived with it for many years. It's more personal, warrior to warrior, in a way that puts him oddly more at ease talking about it.
Like when it comes to feeling pain from a limb that is no longer there, for instance. It's something he'd once thought reserved for those who are going mad, and admitting to it still makes him wonder if he isn't, at times. "Sometimes," he says hesitantly. "Not often. But every now and then, I can still feel my fingers." It's disconcerting at best, though as Hephaestus had promised, it never happens while he's wearing the arm.
The way she pauses makes Thor want to take back what he'd asked, worried that he's overstepped his familiarity, misjudged her mood or... something. But before the silence can stretch on too long, she begins to tell her story, and then all he can do is listen and give her tale the respect it is due.
He'd expected to hear of hardship, and knowing a little of the way people treat each other on her Earth - the way women are treated - it doesn't shock him to hear the truth. But his mouth narrows to a grim line, the uncomfortable familiarity of it churning in his stomach. Not the same. But similar enough. And she'd been through all that as a child. "I'm sorry." Thor draws his knees up toward his chest, and loosely wraps his arm around them.