Part of Thor is still waiting for her to change her mind, to pull away or scorn him for his weakness, but the longer she doesn't, the more he is able to follow her lead and relax a little, taking the comfort that she offers no matter how selfish it feels. Even if she does withdraw, at least he'll have this moment, where he can pretend that he isn't a shadow of the man he used to be. Or maybe just the man he'd assumed he was.
He's not quite sure what she means by 'softer worlds,' at first, but then he thinks of Asgard and endless feasts, of never fearing where he would lay his head for the night, of never questioning the wealth of his people - his family - or fearing it would ever run out. Countless things he had taken for granted before they were gone, and left him reeling in their absence. Those days are over, never to return. Compared to Furiosa's people, what remains of Asgard is still new to hardship. But they, too, must have started somewhere, perhaps with far less help than she is offering him now.
It's hard to be optimistic, knowing how far Asgard has fallen, trying to imagine what future might lie before them. How they might be shaped from the ashes of what came before. How much of their culture might yet be saved, and how much is already lost to them forever. But the way Furiosa speaks of her people... it's a brutal sort of hope, stripped of platitudes and niceties meant to soften the blow, yet utterly refusing to give in to despair. Life endures, no matter what the universe has thrown at them.
It makes Thor wonder what he might learn from them, how to keep hold of what matters despite the devastation. And that, perhaps above all else, is what pierces through the fog of uncertainty and beckons to him to come and see. "I'm honored," he murmurs, understanding that this is not pity, or a misguided attempt to raise his spirits, or an offer that's been given to many and it is simply his turn. It's a kindness, no matter which way he wants to look at it. So there's little to stop him from asking. "How did you endure it?"
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He's not quite sure what she means by 'softer worlds,' at first, but then he thinks of Asgard and endless feasts, of never fearing where he would lay his head for the night, of never questioning the wealth of his people - his family - or fearing it would ever run out. Countless things he had taken for granted before they were gone, and left him reeling in their absence. Those days are over, never to return. Compared to Furiosa's people, what remains of Asgard is still new to hardship. But they, too, must have started somewhere, perhaps with far less help than she is offering him now.
It's hard to be optimistic, knowing how far Asgard has fallen, trying to imagine what future might lie before them. How they might be shaped from the ashes of what came before. How much of their culture might yet be saved, and how much is already lost to them forever. But the way Furiosa speaks of her people... it's a brutal sort of hope, stripped of platitudes and niceties meant to soften the blow, yet utterly refusing to give in to despair. Life endures, no matter what the universe has thrown at them.
It makes Thor wonder what he might learn from them, how to keep hold of what matters despite the devastation. And that, perhaps above all else, is what pierces through the fog of uncertainty and beckons to him to come and see. "I'm honored," he murmurs, understanding that this is not pity, or a misguided attempt to raise his spirits, or an offer that's been given to many and it is simply his turn. It's a kindness, no matter which way he wants to look at it. So there's little to stop him from asking. "How did you endure it?"