Loki has seen much of the landscape they cross through. The frozen falls. The grove with the fruit-shaped shells of ice. As they go, he is attentive to wings and shadows. He sees the motion as something creeps away from their caravan, and makes a silent mental note: that doesn't bode well. He could pursue it, but--

no. He'll stay with the group until he is sure what's happening here, and until he can gauge their chances of success.

The distant bobbing lights strike him as an equally bad sign. The place is full of ghosts, of course, literal and metaphorical. Many have died out here. Many have died in their own worlds and been dropped here afterward, like he has himself. And this is a season of the dead. There are always monsters, Reynard said. Loki judges him correct.

Robots, though. That doesn't seem right, and when Sif and the others fall back to deal with them, Loki follows, invisible and silent save for a stirring of snow as he moves. Really, the others hardly need his help with their foes, but in the melee one of the little robots crackles seidr green and collapses as Loki's magic rends it to pieces. And then a second.

And then he'll just stand back and leave them to it, unless it looks like they actually need the assistance.