“Was she six?” was Sigyn's immediate reply. Though really, she was beginning to question Bragi's taste in women in general. His first love looked permanently surprised, bit her knuckles, was slow and made boys kiss slugs. Could the sister be much better? For that matter, he'd ended up with Idun, who, while lovely to look upon, kept running off with the man that Sigyn wanted for her own. Innocent or not, the apple maiden spent far too much time with Loki.
Though she was beginning to think that's exactly what it was: innocent. Bragi seemed very well aware of his wife's doings and not all that upset about them. So either he was very naive or she was a very adept liar. Or a combination of the two. That was seeming less likely by the moment though. Despite his romantic choices, Bragi didn't seem that gullible.
Then again, he'd kissed a slug.
She'd been trailing along behind him since he'd invited her for apple wine, watching him scan the ground. Without meaning to, or even knowing why she was doing it, Sigyn mimicked his actions, looking at the ground near the trees. Then her eye lit upon a shine of red in the green blades and she thought she understood: he was looking for fallen apples. She wasn't certain why, though it must have something to do with his wayward wife. But because Bragi was being kind to her, and because Sigyn had no quarrel with him, she bent down to retrieve the rounded fruit, then held it out in offering.
“Have you gained some wisdom since then?” she asked, half in earnest. She wanted to believe in his judgment on the current situation, but Sigyn held fear in her heart. It had taken her so very long to find a man that understood her, that didn't judge her, that let her to be herself with him even when that meant she was opposing him. What other As would have allowed the adopted daughter of an almost forgotten goddess to tell him that he was being an ass? Especially when he was being an ass? Loki didn't always appreciate her words, but he loved her for her honesty. He wasn't upset that she couldn't weave or embroider, in fact, he praised her for her unconventional artistic skill. He challenged her, which made her grow and evolve. And he made her laugh. Every day she was with him, he made her laugh. How could she not love him? How could she not be afraid of losing something that special?
“Are you wiser about women than you were when you were seven?” she continued. “Are you certain that it truly is perfectly alright?”