Summer barely paid attention to where her feet were going, too absorbed in looking around at all the differences between Asgardian forests and the forests at home. Superficially, everything seemed the same — tall trees, green leaves, small animals and insects. But the greens were different, sometimes, and the leaves were shaped strangely, tree bark rougher or smoother, seeds or flowers more vibrant. She stopped for a moment to put her hand on the bole of a narrow sapling with pale bark, similar to a birch but somehow more silvery, with a soft smile.
He watched her for a moment too long perhaps, then continued. As he turned, a particularly thorny branch snapped him in the face.
“And to think, not long ago I was a king,” he muttered dramatically.
Catching his remark, Summer spluttered and snorted. “You were in a glass box, you said. That doesn’t sound like king of much. Are you counting on some kind of restoration, here? I don’t think that’s going to go over well. And, uh, I’m not going to back you on that one.”
He sighed, glaring up at the sky. At least she wasn’t one to mindlessly flatter. Still. “There’s no need to be rude, darling,” he said rather sharply. “But worry not, I’ve long since abandoned such ambitions. Asgard is a petty prize to me now.” It was as if he could hear how foolish he must sound to her, and yet he still couldn’t stop saying such things. He shoved a branch out of his way a bit too roughly. It would be a long day, that much was certain.
“Oh, don’t be like that,” she sighed. Finding a bigger tree, she stopped by it and rolled the backpack off her shoulders. “I’ve been assuming we have an actual destination — do we? Or are we just wandering and hoping to find a cave?” She rubbed at a shoulder where the strap had bitten into the muscle.