It's a flutter of wings and feathers that herald the arrival of another, but the magpie that wings down to alight on the end of a nearby bench certainly was no normal animal, not that he was especially trying to hide such a thing. More just seeking a place to rest a moment than anything. The misty day suited his current mood as much as the form Loki wore did, diffuse and drifting. Like with a simple breath he could simply wisp off into the fog himself. He barely felt like anyone today as it was. Like when he'd worn this form before, the thought-form created for another's purpose and puppetered by another's will.

But the voice speaking to him called his attention back, drew the god's sense of self back into the small body he wore for the moment, feathers fluffing as he tilted his head slightly, witchfire green eyes reflecting the torchlight as he did in a flash of color.

"My loved ones yet live... to be honest I almost wonder if anyone will want to talk to me once I've met my end." It was said in a wry tone to be sure, but there was something softer, almost uneasy underneath. He wondered if she could see it, the creeping grasp of his end, the last gasping spirals in a circle he'd been running since he'd become more than another's intent. The jaws of a long game closing around him, though there was no peace or cold to be found in that void. No mist or soft diffused loneliness.

Oh no, this was fire and smoke, and everything that Loki had never wanted to be again.

"I cannot say I'd have much good advice to give, so perhaps they'd be right in that."