There was a time when Thor would have jumped at the chance to fight such a formidable foe, justified or not. When he would have been eager to test himself in battle, to prove himself the stronger, drawing on the great wolf's past violence as a reason to strike first, to keep innocents safe, if not for his own glory.

The Thor that stands here now is scarred and grim-faced, ready for battle only if it must be done, knowing well that the antiviolence field is not without its flaws. Though it's long healed, the ruin Hela left of his eye seems to ache as he stares the beast down, forever marked by the wolf's beloved master.

His axe is ready to hand, but he still does not raise it, nor place it between the two of them. He'll not attack first, nor give Fenrir any reason to be provoked. When the wolf takes that small step back, Thor's grip on Stormbreaker's haft eases a fraction, the heavy axehead dipping downward ever so slightly. "I'm sure you could," he agrees, eyeing those fangs warily. "At least until they came back out the other end."