“You heard me.” It's beyond obvious that he did; that altogether too amusing shiftiness says everything Loki needs to know. Words. It always thrills him. Mere words, harmless vibrations of air particles, and yet here: a tangible result. A physical response. It's more magic than the magic he knows, a contradiction of the laws of thermodynamics – as he knows them, and admittedly he doesn't know them terribly well.

Still. One rarely gets something from almost nothing at all. It's all so very delicious.

“Isolating yourself from all your friends wasn't terribly clever of you, was it? Alone in a strange place... dangerous, by all accounts. Full of monsters.” He tosses the rock up, up, and catches it again. “You must be very brave. Or very foolhardy. They are so often the same thing.”

His smile widens and he gives the stone another easy flip before turning away to launch it out to sea with a sharp flick of the wrist.

“One never does know what one might meet, out wandering alone. Or whom.”