Midgard was full of mortal creatures; small mortal creatures that flitted in and out of their small huts, carrying linen or weapons, even children. The children were crying, the adults hushing them with gentle lullabies in their native tongue, slowly silencing their screams and ridding them of fear, yet none of them noticed the tall man with hair as black as the domain of his birth - a stark contrast to his alabaster skin. He lingered in the shelter of the trees; the shadows keeping his form hidden from the mortals, knowing that the children of the clan he watched could sense him there.
Loki liked to visit Midgard and watch those who worshipped him and the others upon Asgard. He liked to watch them as they cooked and cleaned; as they sharpened their swords and prepared for battle in the name of their Gods.
Odin often laughed at their silly ways, commenting on the way they prayed to him whenever something went wrong or right. Loki remembered something that Odin had said to him many seasons ago whilst they sat in Valaskjalf together - a rare occasion when the two did not fight over Loki's antics and Odin's dislike for them.
"It is puzzling to me, Loki, how they pray for help and guidance, but they also pray for thanks, yet I am not the God in control of such trivial matters. They pray to Frejya for their babes, and Njord when they travel across the seas, yet the pray to me for help. I can do nothing but wish them well. It is a puzzling thing indeed, Loki."
Loki chuckled quietly to himself. He never liked to recall fond memories of Odin for he disliked the old fool more than he disliked Farbauti, but sometimes, in situations such as this, where Loki was at peace, only fond memories would surface.
With a heavy sigh, the God pulled his cloak closer around his body to protect himself from the frigid, biting cold and stepped into the light. He let the winter sun caress his skin and the cool breeze bring little bumps to the surface of his skin. On Asgard, the weather was almost constant and only varied once or twice throughout the seasons. The ever unpredictable weather was something he found truly amazing about Midgard and was one of very few reasons why he visited so often.
"Time to depart it seems," Loki paused, took a long gaze at the small village and sighed. He walked into the depths of the forest and took a series of long-legged strides until he could feel his spine shorten and contract, his arms elongate; his fingers shorten and lighten. Loki let out a strangled cry as his jaw pointed and sharpened, forming a pointed beak.
In just a few short seconds, Loki had changed from a Jotunn demi-god, into a small black bird with small beady eyes and long beak. It's feathers were black and slick, it's wings large and graceful.
With a haunting cry, Loki shot into the sky and towards Bifrost - towards home.