A god of mischief and assorted other bullshit, depending who you ask. His providence is so very hard to define, and mostly Loki gets to define it himself, which is a great position for a god to be in. He can say this is his business whether anyone else likes it or not, and find myriad scholarly sources and New-Age pagan websites to back him up.

"I don't expect civility, but I'll make note of your attempt to suggest it," he says with a little grumbling note in his voice.

He accepts the tools, looking them over, and hangs the pickaxe off some sort of hidden belt around his waist. The pack vanishes into some sort of pocket dimension, but he nods his gratitude. He may or may not require the rations, himself, but he'll take them, and at worst pass them on to Harley later. If this situations continues, a day's worth of food is about to be considered a handsome wage.

"And vice versa," he says. "Should I bring the corpse back here, if possible, or is there a location for graves now?"