That's the question, isn't it? Thor's expression is an open book, unable to fully conceal his worry for his brother. "I hope so. It'd better be." His voice doesn't quite tremble, still holding to the faith that his brother will return whole and safe. He promised.

With so many people eager to help, the burden is easier to bear, and the way that Adia doesn't even hesitate to offer makes Thor smile a little. "I might take you up on that," he says, and means it. It's not been long since he began minding the children, but already he feels as though he might be in over his head, the sudden shift in his responsibilities far greater than he'd thought it might be. But his old stubborn pride has also begun to crop back up, little by little, and most days he's determined to prove that he can handle this despite his failings. But maybe not alone. "They're with a... friend right now."

Oh, stories! That's an excellent idea. Thor has struggled to come up with suitable stories of his own, concerned that the violence in some of them might be too much for the children after their traumas (and his, if he's honest). His expression brightens a little at the suggestion. "They might! I've told them some Asgardian stories but a lot of them, they've heard already. Or I've, erm, forgotten some of the details." He can't be too embarrassed over that, since it's been over a thousand years since he's heard them himself, but it's still a reminder of the culture that Asgard might stand to lose if these touchstones aren't passed on to the next generation.