There was a surprising amount of pondering for a goddess to do when she was trapped in a net and her best hope of salvation happened to be oblivious to the pressing sense of peril closing in on the situation. A few of the thoughts worth thinking had a bit to do with poking Bragi full of tiny, nonlethal holes. There were a few scattered in there that focused on what he was writing, but mostly, poking holes. Because of all the hole-poking thoughts, Idun barely acknowledged her decision to refuse his help at all costs.
Oh, but that thought was definitely there, digging in its stubborn heels in anticipation. Bragi would eventually offer, and Idun was going to refuse. Mostly because he'd left her there. He was her friend, and he chose to abandon her, probably in order to make the story more hilarious when he retold it later! Honestly, he was a wicked, terrible god sometimes. She could only hope he was writing a love letter. Her advice would be stunningly terrible if he was. And Bragi would deserve that. He really, really would.
When he looked up finally, Idun made a show of lifting her hand to inspect her nails carefully. She met his gaze for a brief moment, and then went back to studying the dirt that had slipped beneath her nails. If he could scribble away before even acknowledging her again, she could pick at the forest dirt under her nails as she lazily responded to him. "I forgot to ask," she said, with a hint of a sigh in her tone. Kind of like he was inconveniencing her.
She let a few minutes pass by after that. Let him wait this time. It was only fair. Then she looked back down at him, arched an eyebrow, and leaned forward to grip at the rope. "What are you writing?" she asked, with a silent Not that I care tacked on for good measure.