Finding Home

"You should choose your words more carefully," the titan declared, tightening his grip on the man's tiny neck.

Loki's eyes reddened as he kicked and gasped. His life was fading, his heart in his ears, his body turning cold. One final taunt, one final act of defiance, fell from the bloodied lips of the God of Mischief.

"You…will never…be…a god."

The world blurred and faded into a distant inclination. Thor's stifled cry of despair echoed; Loki's body crumpled on unforgiving metal. The titan and his companions departed in a flash of amethyst. Now free, the God of Thunder crawled to his brother's side. Loki felt him grasp the front of his armor, silently pleading for something he could not give. The inclination slipped from his grasp, and the prince of two worlds passed into death.

The ruined ship sparked and groaned, and the magic within the younger son of Frigga surged, spending itself one last time.

*****

It was warm, still, and something firm but soft cradled his aching form. There was birdsong, the smell of a wood he did not recognize, and the taste of blood still on his tongue. His veins burned, and his muscles screamed at him as he forced his eyes open.

Sunlight glowed against the thick canopy above him, and slowly the world came into greater focus. He was sprawled on a bed of leaves and twigs, the earth cool and damp as he pushed himself stiffly up to rest against a nearby tree. He was deep in the heart of this forest, wherever it may be, and he was alone.

'This cannot be Hel, but neither do I think is it Valhalla. Nor does this feel like any forest on Asgard I have seen. Where am I?'

He did not know how long he sat there, gathering his strength, and pondering the sounds of invisible creatures around him. The sun seemed to be setting, though, so he forced himself to his feet and moved carefully toward where the forest seemed brighter.

'Where it thins out, that will be the entrance. With any luck, there will be shelter beyond. I do not wish to meet whatever beasts the night brings.'

His mind was still heavy with delirium, his breathing labored, and he thought his bones would shatter as he fell to his knees with exhaustion after a few meters.

A scream ripped through the peace, and he flinched. No, not a scream, another birdcall, cawing. He blinked around to find the source, watching as an enormous blackbird came to perch on a root nearby. It seemed to glower at him with its beady eye, iridescent feathers shimmering as it shifted this way and that.

'A raven? Perhaps…perhaps one of Odin's, still alive even after his death; am I back on Midgard?'

A spark of hope fizzled in his chest.

Its gaze felt knowing, and it considered the fallen god as a parent or mentor would. Could it truly be? He reached toward the corvid with a shaking hand, his lips moving of their own accord.

"Father?" He croaked.

The bird cawed sharply at him, and he jerked his hand back. It spread its enormous wings and fluttered off, perching in a tree some distance away. It cawed at him again, watching, waiting. Loki fought to his feet and stumbled in its direction. Once he was near, the raven fluttered away again to a distant perch to wait. He continued to follow it, noticing how the trees and underbrush gradually thinned out, and soon he was able to see beyond the edge.

Free from the forest, he fell to his knees beside the stream where the raven now sat, exhausted once more. He laid his shaking hands in the water, collecting enough to spread across his clammy skin. The cold refreshed him, and his head began to clear. Slowly, he washed his face clean and sipped enough of the cloudy water to wet his throat. Feeling at least marginally functional again, he sat back on his feet and gave a grateful nod to the corvid.

"Thank you."

His voice was still weak but clear. He ran a wet hand through his wild hair, smoothing it back out of his eyes.

"Tell me, which are you: Muninn or Huginn? I never could tell the two of you apart." He had the energy for a simple joke, at least. It was a good sign.

The raven cocked its head. It did not seem to understand him. He tried another question, another tongue, but received no response. He suddenly felt very foolish.

'This thing cannot be one of Odin's, it is far too dull. I followed a mindless beast and chanced out of that place… I still do not know where I am.'

Something about the realization cut him deeply, and he chuckled sardonically, scolding himself. He rose to his feet, unsteady, and the corvid fluttered off into the dimming sky.

'I won't find anything of use here, it seems,' he thought as he examined the grassy field across the way. Beyond it, he spotted a hill, 'But there, a cave or crevice. Just for the night.'

He wrapped his ruined cape around his shoulders, massaging the soreness from his arms and hands as he made his way through the grass. He forced himself to focus and began forming a plan for survival in this unknown place. All else could come after. The chilled wind picked up as the sun slipped below the horizon, further tangling his hair. He would need to bathe tomorrow. He could not stand the filmy sensation of grime and blood on his skin much longer than that. His stomach reminded him he would need to find food, as well, and a way to care for his armor and underclothing.

Another animal call interrupted his considerations, this time that of a hound. Behind it, the repeated commands from a man for the beast to "heel." It was approaching far quicker than he knew he could hide or retreat.

'Wherever I am, I cannot be seen like this; I cannot be known.'

Loki summoned up the last fizzle of power he had and urged his shape to shift.