The way she speaks of children, of babies, makes it sound as though it's a miracle, something precious to be treasured. It reminds him of Solvi and her little one, one of the last good moments he'd had before everything had fallen apart, and the fact that both mother and baby still live. That they will form the foundation of the new Asgard as they adapt to their new reality, whatever it may be. The first of generation of Asgardians that will know Earth as their home, just as Furiosa's people are birthing a generation that will know this Citadel as their home, and not the one the warlord had ruled.

It gives him a good deal to think about, though he's still paying attention as he follows her through their garden, occasionally slowing to take a closer look at some of the little seedlings, tiny but determined to grow and thrive despite the desert outside these walls. But then they're moving on, leaving the hydroponics behind.

He's not sure what to make of the new room at first, a sort of... reading room, with a great deal of natural light coming in through the windows, but the pool and its text... it's only when she tells him what this is that it makes sense, or sense enough. Is that the reason she leans on him like she is now, or is there something more? It wouldn't surprise him if there was. So while he's curious to see what books have survived the devastation of her world, what resources they have for knowledge, he's hesitant to ask for anything that will disturb her further. He knows all too well now how the smallest things can drag deeper fears to the surface. "If... if that's all right," he answers awkwardly, looking down at her, uncertain. "It looks like a lovely library."