The fine balance that he has found in the long hours searching for the hammer is about to be tipped. Sparing a glance downwards, Thor knows that next crack will send him straight down into the molten lake of fire.
The tapestry of red heat disappears behind his lids as he calls out once again for Mjolnir, searching for well-hidden pinpricks of the light of Uru under Yggdrasil's luscious canopy. They lie like precious gems hidden in darkness, yet there is none so polished or as worn as Mjolnir that he senses in his search.
With a whispered chant, he retraces a path through the chromatic maze of colours that surround the mid-layer of Yggdrasil's branches, sifting through the gradation of iridescence as quickly as he dares. Strangely enough, it is this pathway that resonates the most strongly within him and for that reason, he returns time and again to scour its treasures.
Instinct, once again, tells him to peer closer. So he obeys it without second thought. In this sixth round of treasure hunting, Thor finally narrows down his search to this small quadrant of this dimension, feeling the Uru's answering call vibrate like it never had before.
This time, he hears Mjolnir say his name.
Joy pricks every surface of his skin, washing out the stain of the molten lake's vapour as he rushes to reclaim his hammer with a single command in the Asgardian tongue and asks it to come.
In the same instant the dimension that holds Mjolnir tears open, the ledge on which he stands succumbs to his weight.
And then he is falling, hurtling through the vapour, his hands outstretched and scrabbling once again for purchase. A dark speck that suddenly appears in the air, however, is faster than the velocity of his tumble, arcing through the oppressive heat to attach itself to his palm a few thumb-ells before his booted feet actually hit the spitting waves of fire.
With Mjolnir raised high in his hand, Thor bursts out of the chasm in a roar of light and sound, searching for a portal that will bring him back to Asgard.
oOo
Jane stumbles on a root, bites back a curse and takes three quick steps as recompense just to keep up with Loki's longer, sure-footed strides.
There is little on Svartalfheim's ground level that looks different from its caves, save for the barely-visible mountain range that is perpetually in sight despite the turns they've made. It's like a camping trip gone wrong, she thinks with more than a touch of unease as she takes a glance at the unchanging landscape that they've trudged through for the past couple of hours, making it seem as though they're walking in circles.
But Loki would know his way, wouldn't he? Or had that been a pure moment of lunacy of hers to have thrown her dice in with his?
Before Jane can work herself up into a frenzy of doubt, Loki stops without warning and she runs into his back before she can help herself.
"Wh-"
Sparing her a baleful look, he scans the dark horizon, stilling to listen. In a flash, he takes a sharp left into yet another winding path, quickening his steps until she's nearly panting with exertion just to keep up. He darts into a glade more nimbly than she ever can, emerging out of it before sliding gracefully down an incline in a wash of mud that dirties her more than it does him. Finally, he comes to a stop under a thick copse of trees situated just as the edge of an incline.
Jane bends over just trying to catch her breath as she laments her fitness levels, marvelling that the Asgardian cloak that she wears barely shows a trace of dirt even though she feels like she's just been put through the mill. Only when she straightens does she see the pinched look on Loki's face and the set of his shoulders that's too straight for her liking, almost as though-
The distant snap of a twig makes her jump.
Loki pauses and narrows his eyes at the noise as he continues to stare hard into the dark pockets of the grove that they've found themselves in.
Jane's only too sure that he's got another scathing comment ready. But what he says next makes her almost prefer the half-hearted insults he throws at her.
"We are being hunted."
His calm words raise the hair on her neck, spiking a flare of panic. "By…whom…or what? I don't…can't even see them!"
A bland smirk tilts the corners of his lips as Loki cants his head leftwards as though searching for the slightest change in the dense air.
"The Svartalfar are more at home in the darkness than you will ever be. A party of dark elves has found our trail. And with them are the sons of Geri, Odin's ravenous wolf, scattered in these realms so that they can feed off the corpses of those fallen in battle. The best I can do is throw them off our scent, but this merely delays the inevitable."
Jane reels with the revelation, wondering just how he managed to figure that part out when all she can see is…nothing. There's an unnatural stillness in the air, but that hasn't changed since they left the cave, an odd tingling of something she can't name, compounded with the spectre of dread that refuses to go away. But then, she's lived through the sacking of Asgard, through the carnage of the attack as they arrived in Svartalfheim – it's more than all the bloodshed that she'd ever need for a lifetime. Why then, does this surprise her still?
His eyes are bright, verdant green and very hard as he tells her coolly, "The enemies of Asgard are tenacious and as long-lived as they come. You thought that Malekith would simply discard us?"
"No, I-" Jane begins, then stops when the air itself seems to shift, as if the thin bubble in which she's found herself has just been popped with the smallest pinprick of light. In the next second, she hears them – soft, low growls that seem to surround their tiny, temporary refuge.
Loki looks less worried than she's feeling. Yet something passes across his face that suspiciously resembles uncertainty.
"The glade merely amplifies their cries."
If that's his attempt at reassurance, then Jane thinks it's a piss-poor one that doesn't help a bit in soothing her frayed nerves. She spares the treetops another look, then jerks her eyes around the way he's doing, but still, she barely sees anything beyond the elegant seams of Loki's heavy armour. Jane knows that she's shuffling nervously, barely holding it altogether by the thinnest of threads, and wishes she just knows how to behave otherwise.
All of a sudden, she feels his vice-like grip on her upper arm, the shock of the movement tripling her heartbeat.
"Run."
The command is hissed into her ear as the darkness splits and gives way to snapping jaws and loud battle cries.