Another night sitting by the campfire alone like usual. Loki has always been dealing with this for many winters, sitting alone in the forest with his guard up.

His paranoia keeps him awake like usual, another lingering pain onto his wounded soul. He occasionally stokes the fire, poking it with a stick, an occasional switch up from staring at it blankly.

He hears the rustle of the bushes, and he immediately conjures his bow, notching an arrow and pointing it in the general direction.

“Show yourself.”

Loki only calls out, his expression still blank as he holds his stance.