"I'm from a place called Asgard. Well...actually, I was born in Jotunheim, but--that won't make a difference to you anyway. Not unless you have Frost Giants in your world."

He pats his shoulder lightly through the blanket. "I did, actually, but you were probably shivering too hard to hear it. My name is Loki. Odinson. Sometimes known as the god of mischief, if that means anything to you, but my point about being decent to children still stands. Children are brilliant at mischief, that's why I like them."

Another oversimplification, but no one wants to hear about his providence when they're half frozen in a strange land. As they near the cottage, Fjord may notice the small stable, the ground marked out in yellow yarn for the upcoming garden, and some children's playground equipment covered in canvas to protect it from the ice. Loki opens the door for him, and the blast of warm air from within is accompanied by the scent of the pancakes he cooked before leaving. Between the smell and the heat, it's probably hard to resist.