The uneasy truce held as the unwilling housemates fell into a somewhat awkward routine. For the most part Loki merely observed. In the nearly two years since their rocky first alliance, the Avengers had come together as something more than a team. The ease of their relations with one another did not fully surprise Loki. He'd rather supposed that they might be capable of facing the flames together if only they burned hot enough, but to see them interacting in a nearly domestic way was somewhat surreal.

To Loki's eyes they were a jumbled mosaic of pieces that shouldn't have fit together nearly so neatly as they did. Not to say there wasn't friction between them—and it pleased him to think that his presence was likely aggravating that. Rogers and Stark bickered about nearly everything under the sun—with Stark often an intentional provocateur. Little wonder, the two men were radically different, but unfortunately similar in stubbornness.

Agent Romanov's cavalier attitude toward espionage and preventative action could actually serve to ally Rogers and Stark. She also seemed to have the unfortunate habit of viewing anything in the fridge as fair game. Banner of course made every effort to cohabitate peacefully with his fellow team members. Fear of the beast didn't seem to be a problem. Even Romanov appeared at ease around Banner now—well, as at ease as Loki imagined the Widow ever got.

That left Thor. He had never lorded his Princedom and position over the Warriors Three and Sif—that privilege had been reserved for Loki alone it seemed—but sometimes the gap between them appeared. One minute they were all equals—all but Loki—laughing and arguing and boasting and then suddenly Thor was the prince and the others were his subjects. Not so here.

It amused Loki to see Thor this way—treated as if he were nothing special, or at least no more special than anyone else. And with Stark present Thor had some serious competition for largest ego in the room. He even did dishes and allowed Romanov or Banner to order him around in the kitchen.

Loki carefully tucked each snippet of information away. He felt the bonds of his oath tight around him and each sliver of knowledge about his captors was another knife tucked by his side. Their armor was thick, this strange band of allies, but a chunk of it had already fallen away, and its loss weakened the whole. It didn't take someone of Loki's skills to see the group compensated around the hole of someone who ought to have been there. He also imagined they hadn't often all come together at once without the little hawk. Without him their dynamic was off.

Exactly what opportunity this afforded him was unclear. But Loki could wait and watch. Book's recovery promised to be slow. Until the boy was well—and Loki relatively behaved himself—the truce should hold.

And then? She has allowed not only the Avengers, but the Chitauri to find me. Where could I possibly run? Loki thought as he leaned against the doorway to the great room, watching his captors. The Avengers jostled one another amiably, carrying plates of food to the table and settling down to eat.

"Ketchup?" called Stark from the kitchen.

"On the table," Banner answered as he paused in opening the little white and red boxes full of steaming food.

"This is Chinese—what possible need could you have for ketchup?" asked Romanov.

Stark leaned around the corner. "You put cabbage and vinegar together. Do I complain?"

"Actually you do," said Banner with a quiet smile. "A lot."

"And loudly," added Rogers.

"Not complaining. Constructive criticism."

"Enough. Friends, tonight we feast!" said Thor as he carried all five drinks to the table at once.

With a scraping of chairs, everyone settled around the table—the sixth chair, between Romanov and Rogers, noticeably empty. A brief silence followed while Rogers clasped his hands together and bowed his head. Stark was already eating before the Captain looked up again. The chatter resumed, requests for things to be passed mingling with the clink of silverware on plates.

Loki was largely ignored as he slid into the room to fill his plate. He could tell the Widow was watching him without appearing to. Thor was less surreptitious and less wary. He watched as Loki piled steaming vegetables atop his mound of rice, balancing two eggrolls along the edge.

Up to this point, Loki had avoided the Avengers as much as possible—largely through spending much of his time asleep. It had recently occurred to him that this was likely not the most entertaining option. Without preamble, he dropped into the empty space, pleased by the sudden silence. Nonchalantly he began stirring his food together as the Avengers shared startled looks—some of them attempting to decipher his motives. Banner just looked to be weighing the chances of this turn of events unleashing his other half, while Stark immediately poured himself another drink. Thor just looked amused. The discomfort practically rolled off the rest of them.

"Pass the…soy sauce," Loki said. "If you don't mind," he tacked on pleasantly. Silence greeted him. With a shrug he uncoiled a snippet of magic, quirking his fingers at the Kikkoman's bottle so that it floated up from next to Banner's plate and wove its way to him.

The show of magic seemed to unnerve them. Thor shook his head subtly, well aware that this had been the desired effect. All but Banner had subtly moved away. The good doctor had actually leaned forward and was staring intently, as if he could somehow peel back the layers of reality and see the working itself.

"Something of interest?" asked Loki innocently.

"It's not possible."

He grinned. "And yet it is."

"How are you doing that—some kind of electromagnetic field? Something different in your anatomy. Biological engineering?"

"You saw me bring someone back to life with an ancient ritual and it is a parlor trick that fascinates you?" Loki cocked his head to the side. "How strange your mind is."

Banner waved the comment away. "Some form of advanced blood transfusion bolstered by your alien healing capabilities."

"It's not like its actual magic," said Rogers.

"Everything is science when you get down to it," said Stark. "If it's advanced enough it just looks like magic. Your Bifrost for example—garden variety wormhole."

Shoulders shaking slightly as he held back laughter, Loki concentrated on his plate. "Thor explained all of this to you did he? Captain Rogers might as well start explaining the inner workings of a motherboard."

Rogers shifted in his seat, "I'd be offended, but I honestly don't know what that is."

Soy flowed up and out of the bottle, streaming through the air in spiraling patterns, following the idle motions of Loki's fingers. "There is science beyond your ken—but beyond even that is magic. Something I failed to fully acquaint you with last time." He didn't mention that most of his magic had been otherwise occupied during his previous visit. The sauced twirled gracefully down across his food with a flick of his fingers.

Discomfort wormed its way back to the table as everyone imagined exactly what it would have been like to be acquainted with Loki's magic. Considering they had no practical experience with Asgardian spell-weaving, or any true sorcery for that matter, Loki could only imagine the kinds of things they thought him capable of. It was all probably very Harry Potter in their minds. He picked up a chopstick and brandished it like a wand, flicking it toward Stark. Solemnly he intoned, "Avada Kedavra."

Stark inhaled too sharply, probably getting a lungful of masticated orange chicken in the process. Coughing and wheezing, he shoved back from the table, pounding his chest.

"Should we…?" Rogers asked, half rising from his seat.

Stark was already shaking his head as Banner spoke. "He's moving air, he'll be fine."

Romanov passed a glass of water down the table. Stark swallowed hard and took a cautious sip.

"You have seen the Harry Potter films, then?" asked Thor somewhat hopefully.

Loki went back to serenely cutting up his egg roll. "Read the books."

"Little guess as to which house you'd be in," wheezed Stark before taking another gulp of water.

"I do look rather good in green," said Loki. "But then I wouldn't be the only one, would I." He smiled pleasantly at Romanov.

Completely unruffled, she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and reached for the pitcher. "I look good in anything," she said simply. "Not a word, Tony," she said quickly before Stark could get out whatever ribald comment was clearly on his tongue. He snapped his mouth shut.

Silence descended as they went back to eating, knives and forks occasionally screeching across the plates—few of them but Romanov were particularly skilled with chopsticks— or glasses thudding against the heavy table. What an odd group they made.

An uneasy kind of calm settled across the table. And Loki couldn't have that. It would be prudent of him to be on his best behavior, lull the Avengers into a false sense of security. Even alert to his tricks and his manipulative nature, none but Thor knew how well he could play a situation. The widow-child may have surprised him before, but he had been playing this game for hundreds of years before she was born. Even she could be worn down. The right word here, a subtle action there. That was all it took. He didn't really need for them to fully buy his act either. A sliver of doubt as to his total duplicity was all he needed. Between the Captain and the Widow, he had a foothold already.

His gaze flicked to Steve Rogers's face. Clean cut, open, optimistic. He wasn't a fool, but he didn't need to be for Loki to get the Captain thinking there was some hope of redemption. Rogers wanted to believe the best in people and Loki looked enough like people for him to fall into that category. The fact that Rogers had seen firsthand Loki's apparently selfless and benevolent actions with Book had already sown a seed of doubt as to Loki's total depravity. The Trickster wanted to laugh. The Captain questioned Loki's nature all because he'd picked up a stray rather than sadistically kicking it.

On the opposite end of the spectrum came Romanov. Pessimistic, wary, jaded. She would not have the same hope that Rogers did. However, Loki had already pierced her armor once. And it could not escape her notice that she had more in common with him than anyone else at the table. She knew that even those swimming in red could be offered a second chance—and try to take it. That Loki would recognize this and use it against her would be obvious. She knew the game well enough. The knowledge would do nothing but confuse her decision making process though. Confusion slowed reactions, impaired judgment. If only fractionally.

Loki felt eyes on him and flicked his gaze across the table to Thor. He tensed and cast a wary glance around the diners. Thor's expression, though subtle, made him uneasy. There was an idea clunking around in that thick skull—one that Thor seemed quite pleased about. This would not end well.

"Is the food to your liking, brother?" Thor asked.

Narrowing his gaze in suspicion, Loki paused with a piece of chicken clutched between his chopsticks. "Yes," he said warily. Poison was his first thought. Nonsense, if poison was anyone's style, it would be his. Thor would just stab him with a dinner fork—had done so in fact when they were boys. Then why? Loki's thoughts swarmed ahead, casting about for where Thor was headed.

The big ox just smiled broadly at him. "Good! I imagine it to be better than what you have had recently."

"Did you have to eat rat?" asked Stark suddenly. "I hope you had to eat rat."

"Tony," scolded Rogers.

"Or at least garbage." Stark yelped suddenly as if someone had kicked him. Likely Banner given the calm attention the doctor was giving to mixing a yellow and red sauce together on his plate.

"Nothing so colorful I'm afraid," drawled Loki, though there had indeed been times when he and Book had sunk to picking through dumpsters. It took three days for Loki's practicality to win out over his pride. His practicality in that case had argued a great deal like his stomach. "Though I'm not sure I would be able to tell the difference between mortal food and mortal garbage."

"I suppose you're used to dining on honey-dew and ambrosia, nectar of sunlight and crystallized moonbeams," said Stark, twirling his fork in his hand. Attitude oozed off of him.

Loki didn't miss a beat. "Only on feast days." He caught the look of triumph in Thor's eyes as the words left his mouth. It was the same look Thor had right before he'd pin an opponent or bring down a stag on the hunt. What possible opening had he given Thor?

"I don't know, Loki. You always have had a taste for the exotic." Here Thor gave that quite self-amused smile he reserved for these kinds of occasions. "For instance, the time you ate mother's bird—raw."

Romanov fixed Loki with an odd look, lips pursed slightly as her eyebrow crept toward her hairline. The others wore similarly dumbfounded expressions ranging from confused on the part of Rogers's to slightly ill on Banner's.

"Thor," Loki growled, his voice dropping, danger lacing it. "What are you doing?"

"Making conversation," Thor said as he shoveled another mouthful of beef in brown sauce into his mouth. He leaned toward Rogers who was looking particularly perplexed. "It wasn't a habit—he'd recently recovered from being a cat."

"Is this really a contest you wish to begin?" asked Loki, lounging back in his chair, one arm draped over the back.

"A…cat?" said Banner.

Thor was nodding even as Loki propped his head on his arm, something like amusement on his face. This was a strange game Thor was playing. It might just interest him enough to join in.

"You do have cats here, do you not….good." He smiled at Romanov. "He was white, with big black spots and large green eyes." Thor raised his hands to his eyes to emphasize his point. "And he was into everything—even more so than usual."

A disbelieving expression crept across Stark's face. "Can we back up to the part where your brother was a cat," he said, rocking backward, his chair on two legs.

Loki had yet to raise his head from his hand. "I'm a shape shifter, you slow fool. I was young, overestimated my abilities and got stuck." He shrugged. "It is not uncommon."

Banner had that look again, like he wanted nothing more than to hook Loki up to all manner of machines and analyze him. How little these mortals knew.

"His shape changing skills were a surprise to us all." Thor threw back his bottle of Coke and took a deep swallow. It always amazed Loki that Thor could manage to drink anything as if it were a tankard of mead; he'd once seen him do it with a teacup. Thor continued, "We had no idea what had happened to him—he was only a child at the time and already had a tendency to disappear."

"Seek solitude," interjected Loki.

Thor gave a broad grin. "I was a bit disheartened when he finally came to his senses and changed back. It was great fun having a cat for a brother—though he didn't appreciate my trying to give him a bath." He rubbed his forearm as if remembering the encounter.

A short laugh escaped the Trickster god as he ducked his head. "I had forgot. Frigga let you keep the scratches as a lesson—you looked like you'd been in a fight with a bramble patch—and lost."

"I am glad my pain brings you so much pleasure, brother," said Thor.

"Always."

Rogers interjected. "And the bird?"

"After a year as a cat, it took him some time to actually stop acting like a cat. I'm not sure who was more surprised, mother or you as you sat there picking feathers out of your mouth."

"I'd rather say the bird," murmured Loki as he pushed his food around the plate.

"So, do you also…" Rogers trailed off as he gestured vaguely at Thor.

Loki laughed sharply. "What would you have been? Hmmm? A bilgesnipe perhaps? Strong, brutish," he leaned conversationally toward Rogers, "rather rank, and none too bright."

Thor crossed his arms and glowered a Loki. "Which of us tried to lock one in the Dwarfish Ambassador's chambers?"

Loki shrugged. "Not my finest hour, but at least I never married an ogre."

"Nearly!" Thor said quickly as everyone stared at him. "It was a mission of stealth."

"He really was quite fetching in that gown though," said Loki with a smirk. He leaned forward. "You're lucky I arrived when I did, before Thrym tried to sweep you off to the marriage chamber."

"You were the bride?" asked Stark.

"Stealth," said Thor firmly. "It was necessary."

The grin on Loki's face said otherwise and Romanov's narrowed gaze made it clear she didn't believe a word of it.

"You seemed awfully keen to pose as Freya, though. That gown isn't still in your wardrobe back on Asgard is it?" needled Loki. "Maybe Jane could wear a matching one."

"I wasn't the only one in a dress," said Thor pointedly. "And I wasn't the one worried that the sash didn't match the under gown."

"My persona would have. The devil's in the details."

"The devil is at my table," muttered Stark.

"Details? Were you worrying about details when you released a swarm of frost sprites during the ambassadorial mission to Vanaheim?"

"They needed the excitement."

"I doubt they needed their crops frosted in the middle of summer," Thor pointed out.

"How about the time you accidentally engaged yourself to an elvish princess."

"Losing mother's jewels to a dragon?"

"Insulting the Valkyries?"

"Attempting to create a second Bifrost in your chambers?"

"Challenging the Dwarven deep-king to a drinking contest?"

"Teaching Freya's chunna vixen to talk?"

"Odin's patch?"

"The Order?"

"Muspelheim."

Romanov noticed that the teasing light had crept from Loki's eyes. As if he realized the easy pattern he had fallen back into. It was as good as admitting to kinship with Thor. She saw the cutting words coming.

"Coulson." It was a verbal shiv between the ribs. Any merriment shattered. A hardness crept into Stark's posture.

Everyone made a studious job of not looking at one another as they suddenly remembered just who it was sitting at their table. That brief glimpse of the Loki that had been Thor's little brother tore apart, replaced by Loki the conqueror, the villain—the murderer.

The corner of his lip lifted in a haughty sneer as he spared a cold glance for each Avenger. He then returned to his food, as if daring anyone to try and recapture the brief moment of complacency. He could not let them forget who he was. What he was.

"Sleipnir misses you," said Thor quietly. He focused on his hands, his voice soft.

There was a slight hitch in the motion of his chopsticks to his mouth. "Oh?"

Thor leaned toward his brother. "He runs wild, refuses to let anyone near him. Even father. We tried to explain to him, to make him understand why you weren't coming back. "

Loki rubbed his thumb along the inside of the bamboo stick in his hand as he cast a sideways gaze from beneath lowered lids. "That you could not convey the meaning of the word treason to a horse is not surprising." His tone lacked the conviction of his earlier remarks and sounded more like tired sarcasm.

"Each morning he waits by the gate to your favored practice court."

Loki idly twirled lo mien around the plate. "What is it you hope to accomplish here, that you use a horse as a pawn? A child's gambit."

A voice interrupted them. "Is this the horse with eight legs?" Banner had a look on his face that seemed to say he was already regretting his words, but couldn't take them back.

Something about the tone and the growing look of glee glinting in Stark's eyes gave Loki pause. "He is—what do you know of Sleipnir."

"Just what the myths say—that he's you know, yours."

"If he belongs to anyone but himself it is the Allfather. I gave him into his service long ago—before I was made aware that no gift, however kingly, would raise me in his sight," said Loki.

"What does this myth say?" asked Thor, still puzzled by the strange looks his friends were giving him and the way Rogers shifted uneasily in his seat.

"Just that Loki turned into a mare to entice away a giant stallion and…" Banner couldn't continue.

"He showed back up in the family way with an eight-legged bundle of joy. Does he have your eyes?" Stark smirked.

"What are you trying to say, Tony Stark?" asked Thor, his head cocked to the side.

A wicked grin stretched across Stark's face. "Is your baby-daddy a horse?"

Loki's brow creased as he followed the meaning of the words to their logical conclusion. A horrified green crept into his face as he realized the exact implications.

Thor's thunderous pounding on the table broke the silence as he also untangled the meaning of the phrase. Throwing his head back in laughter, Thor continued beating his fist against the table so that the glasses jumped. Catching the look on Loki's face only made him laugh harder.

Loki's words finally returned to him. "You think that I, that—with a horse?" He gestured helplessly with his hands.

"Sleipnir—my nephew," Thor roared, wiping tears from his eyes.

"Are you addled? What ails you mortals?!" Loki shoved his chair back as he lunged to his feet, gripping the edge of the table.

Rogers held up his hands placatingly. "Whoa, now. We didn't make this up. And I'm particularly glad that story wasn't true."

A lost kind of expression ghosted across Loki's face. "You all actually believed such slander?"

"You guys did have the most contact with the Vikings," murmured Bruce. "They'd know better than anyone else."

"Did your Norse peoples have nothing better to do than drunkenly invent ever-mounting tales of debauchery?" spluttered Loki.

"Knowing the northern winters—yeah, that's probably exactly what they did," Stark pursed his lips as he rocked back in his chair.

"So, none of it's true?" asked Rogers hopefully.

"There is some truth in it. There was a giant's horse name Svadlfari that I led off in the form of a mare." Loki threw up a finger to halt Stark's comment as the other opened his mouth with a grin. "That was a completely separate incident from Sleipnir!"

Thor was only just now gaining control of himself enough to speak through his laughter. "He does call you 'mother'."

Loki flopped back into his chair. He never had managed to convince Sleipnir that he was not his mother. The horse had a perfectly fine understanding that everybody else's mother was female and of the same species. Time and again Loki had tried to convince the great beast of the basic fact that they were not related. Mostly because it caused others to laugh and point when Sleipnir would trumpet a greeting across the courtyard. But it didn't matter that Loki had found him, was not a horse, and—most importantly as far as a younger Loki had been concerned—male. Sleipnir was content in the knowledge that Loki was his mother. "He is a horse, Thor. Therefore the one who cares for it is 'mother,' regardless of sex—or species."

"Are you sure about that," wheedled Stark.

"By the nine realms," Loki said in exasperation. "I hadn't seen many centuries when I found him."

Thor was nodding, but the others stared back at him questioningly.

"What is your average lifespan?" Loki asked.

Banner shrugged, "It varies. Let's say eighty to a hundred years."

Loki stared into space as he worked the conversion. "Twelve—I was roughly twelve of your years old. Still very much a boy."

"So…" Stark was still grinning as Romanov cut him off.

"Leave it."

This conversation had gone on too long and lost the edge Loki had been cultivating. "If you wish to speak of unnatural relations, perhaps you should look to Thor." Loki slid to his feet, giving Thor a look that was equal parts pity and mockery. "Him with his mayfly infatuation. How is dear Jane these days?" Thor stiffened. Loki allowed an almost gleeful expression to pass across his face as he leaned forward. "Can you see them yet? The years slowly etching away at her? The rot and decay already clawing at her frail carcass. Careful, Thor, blink and she'll be gone."

Thor's fists rested on the table, not clinched, but curled. A stiffness ran through his frame. "Choose your words with care, brother." The threat rested clearly in those calm words.

Loki paused by the stairs. "Always." With that he disappeared down the hall. The Avengers no longer held any amusement for him. He closed himself up in his bedroom and stretched out on the coverlet, fully clothed and feet dangling over the end. Folding his hands over his chest he stared up at the ceiling and let his thoughts whirl away, eventually fading into sleep. That night he dreamed of his sentencing for the first time in months.

People scattered as Sleipnir charged into the great hall, frolicking like a colt on the first day of spring. His pleased whinnies of happiness echoed almost as loudly as his hooves against the polished floors and soaring columns. Normally Sleipnir's unorthodox entrance would have brought a smile to Loki's face. There was nothing so amusing as watching nobles in their finest scampering away from the horse's flashing hooves. As if he would be so clumsy as to actually trample anyone.

The oblivious horse shouldered past the guards and lowered his face, wuffling Loki's hair with soft wickering breaths. The velvet of Sleipnir's nose brushed lightly across Loki's wounds and then paused when they touched the metal muzzle. The horse gave a snort of disgust, arching his head away. He did not understand why his mother wore such a strange bit. His nostrils flared and ears angled back as his joy tinged with anxiety. Something felt off. Someone had hurt mother.

Loki didn't dare let unease show behind the shields he'd raised. He could read Sleipnir's thoughts better than anyone—the meaning behind every muscle twitch and pitched whiney. Horse he may have been, but Sleipnir was anything but just a horse. Loki could see the anxiety resolving itself into confusion.

Mother was here. After so long. Why won't you greet me? Mother, why are you hobbled? He gently butted his head against Loki's, nickering. His dark eyes looked long into Loki's, waiting for the soothing murmurings and distracted rubbing of his ears. Why won't you speak to me?

"Sleipnir," Odin rumbled from the top of the dais. The horse's head whipped round, ears pricked forward. Herd sire? Mother said he was to listen to the one-eyed sire.

"Sleipnir, withdraw." Odin's voice was solemn, an undercurrent of emotion cutting through the words. "Withdraw."

He pawed at the stones. But mother is here. The horse looked from Loki to Odin, hindquarters dancing sideways in indecision.

"Loki has done terrible things. He must be punished. You cannot interfere." Odin signaled to two of the guards, who slipped up and caught hold of the horse's bridle.

Sleipnir whirled to Loki, nostril's wide as his hooves skittered across the floor. Punishment? The only thing he knew of punishment was the biting, bleeding sting of the whip a horsebreaker used on him when he was young and not yet taking to the bit and bridle. Loki had flogged the man with the broken pieces of his own whip and sent nightmares of stampeding horses to tear down the man's dreams until Frigga made him break the charm. But the wild-eyed terror of flayed skin was all Sleipnir knew of punishment.

Loki merely nodded to the question in Sleipnir's eyes.

The horse bellowed. No one would touch his mother. Not even the herd-sire. He reared and plunged, throwing the guards as if they were nothing. He galloped straight for Odin, rearing and tossing his mane. He slammed his hooves hard enough to crack the masonwork. Odin did not flinch.

He merely reached out a hand and laid it against the horse's forehead. Sleipnir stilled. He knew then that his mother deserved this. All the pain to follow he deserved. Somehow. Sleipnir did not understand.

He followed quietly as another guard—one of the horse-masters—grabbed his bridle and led him away. His mother refused to look at up, hanging his head so that his black mane obscured his eyes. As they led him away, Sleipnir kept arching his head around to look at Loki, starting to pull at the men holding him.

Loki closed his ears as Sleipnir began to scream. His cries echoing in the crowded hall as the guards dragged him away.

Mother! Mother!

A/N: Y'all remember the bit way back toward the beginning where Loki hears Coon's story about mistreated horses and he thinks of blood on grey flanks? Well now you know the incident he was thinking of. As a side note, getting to see some of the story through Sleipnir's perspective really appealed to me because his perception of the world is even more foreign than Loki's and it is a fun creative exercise.

And if you thought Kayden would have let Loki get out of the library without ever reading Harry Potter, you are sorely mistaken. He probably laughed himself silly at human conceptions of magic.

I also gotta say that though I have a general system for Asgardian aging worked out, it's still not perfect-*whispers* mostly because I don't think Marvel has really thought things through. For example, we know that Loki can't be much older than 1, 046 as of 2011 because he was born at the end of the war and the Jotun invaded Earth in 965 AD. Then in 2018 (Infinity War) Thor states he is 1,500 (which he could be rounding to rather than being on the dot) so he has a good four hundred or so years on Loki. And yet in the flashback in Thor they both appear to be about the same age and have always interacted as siblings that had little age gap. So needless to say, they don't have a nice, simple conversion to human aging (and they appear to like humans have parts of their lives where development is very rapid and parts where it is basically stagnant for years at a time).

Next Week: Book and Loki finally have that little talk.