Even before Ragnarok, the Asgardians had been well aware that gods can die just as mortals do. Longer lives, tougher bodies, faster healing... but whether one earns Valhalla or Folkvangr or Hel, no one escapes death's touch forever. Thor's been marked by it already, scarred in both body and soul, but if he lives long enough to succumb to old age, he still has thousands of years left before that happens. Thousands of years as potentially the only surviving god on Earth.

He doesn't like to think about that part.

In light of all that, a friendship with someone just as long-lived is a godsend, if one pardons the pun. Between Prometheus' cheerful presence and the warmth of the alcohol, Thor's mind is being kept from the worst of such thoughts. His eyebrows go up at the question, thinking of the ridiculous tales that the humans have about such things. Mostly when Loki is involved. "Don't tell me they credit him with creating an eight-legged horse too."