"I'll find some other excuse to throw you later, then," he says softly.

He shakes his head slowly at Thor, awe blending with sickly terror as some of his own worst memories bubble up to the surface. His mouth and throat are dry; he swallows thickly and reaches to touch Thor's face and shoulders as if checking for burns. (Really, as if that level of heat and radiation could leave burns rather than outright searing the flesh from a person's body.

"Don't ever do that again," he says, and then snaps to, forcing himself to focus on his PINpoint. A quick scroll, a tap of the keys, and then they're...somewhere else.

It's a room that looks to be solid wood, with slits high up on the walls for windows, green, dancing light shining through dimly. All the furniture--a bed, a desk, a bookshelf, a chair--seems to emerge from the walls or floor as if it's grown as a part of the room. The scents are of earth and water and blossom.

Loki steers his brother to the bed and pushes him to sit. "We are on the edge of the Wilds. This is one of my safe-houses here."