Chapter Text
Shock is the foremost reason of why Loki does not immediately move upon the completion of the spell-casting that he has just read up on a travelling book.
Well, shock and a sudden, acute exhaustion. But the latter plays a smaller role, considering where he ends up: His “landing pad” is cold, albeit not as unforgiving as stone or packed earth.
But most importantly, it is blue and alive.
Humongous arms, wiry but each still the size of a tree trunk, wrap round him in a similar delayed reaction. However, while his lag of reaction does ill for his chance of freedom, the same does not seem to disadvantage his newfound captor: The owner of the arms needs not spend any effort at all – or so it seems – in restraining him.
Afterwards, even more shockingly, he does not end up an ingredient of a soup or a slave or a gladiator for the amusement of barbaric blue giant monsters.