Well that was a bucket load of poor-me that just got dumped out at her feet, wasn't it? Sigyn wasn't exactly sure what she was supposed to do with that. Did he expect her to apologize for teasing him? Because she wasn't about to do that. Her actions had not only been meant good-naturedly, they'd been offered in just that vein as well. Anyone without that bucket of poor-me that Loki'd been carrying around would have taken them that way. So why should she say she was sorry for something she hadn't actually done?
Sigyn considered the misunderstanding that had led to this point as she lifted the brush into place, trying to ignore how his shoulder occasionally bumped hers while he helped. But she couldn't help but note that with him nearby again, she was warmer than she'd been a moment ago. He just seemed to radiate heat. Or maybe that was her imagination. Or maybe it was because she was so wet and cold that any little bit of warmth was felt keenly.
She really needed to get a fire started. Soon.
But she was momentarily distracted by his admission that he sometimes ran with a pack. He ran with a pack? A wolf pack? That was... unexpected. And she wasn't exactly sure how that would work. True, he wasn't mortal, so he had some advantages, but she still didn't see how a pack of wolves would accept him enough to let him run with them. That was bizarre. And her curiosity was piqued.
Sigyn didn't think she'd get more answers out of him, however, until she'd dealt with the bucket of poor-me. After getting the last of the brush in place, she moved to pile the wood she'd gathered so that she could start a fire. Smaller pieces were tilted in an inverted cone, with space beneath for the kindling. Once she got that lit, she could add the larger chunks so they could get some heat into the cave. She was quiet as she worked, pondering how to address all he'd just confessed.
Teasing was, obviously, out. He'd taken it poorly in benign circumstances; it would not go at all well now when he'd laid himself bare. So to speak. Quietly, with little inflection in her voice, she said, “I do not think of you as a scapegoat or a jester, and certainly not a punching bag. A tackling dummy, perhaps, but only after you tripped me. I think that was fair. But a jester? No. You're amusing because you're intelligent enough to maintain a stimulating conversation. Which is why I tease you. It has nothing to do with lack of respect. If I didn't respect you, I wouldn't bother trying to engage you.”
She paused then to look around for her pack. “I need my flint and steel. I hope they didn't fall out when you were losing our wrestling match.”
Well, there had to be a bit of teasing, or she wouldn't be her.