Thor looks up, the raven chicks crying for the lack of food despite it being mere moments since he last gave them a morsel. They're still more mouth and stomach than anything else, young and needy and not afraid to let everyone know they're still hungry.

He doesn't recognize the stranger, nor his armor, since Guardian fashion seems to vary a lot depending on the person. But he seems friendly enough, and Thor responds in kind, despite his own personal turmoil at the moment. "You're speaking of matters of fame?" It's not an unfamiliar thing to a god, of course.