He looked up at her and narrowed his eyes. Reaching up, he took the sticks from her. If she only knew how much he understood about being female, she'd blanche and keep her attitude to herself for a few hours. But she wasn't going to know because Loki was sure as hell not going to tell her about his adventures in female form. And misadventures in some cases.
Though, Sigyn probably had a point. He didn't know what it was like for her. But he knew that many of the more influential Asyniur did as they pleased, when they pleased. As least as far as he could tell. Skadhi certainly did what she wanted, whenever she wanted. Freyja, too. And Frigg... “Pardon me for not being aware of the judgmental clucks in Frigg's little hen house. I know what I'm privy to know, which tends to revolve around the more visible and vocal Asyniur.” Oh he was familiar with many of Frigg's precious handmaidens, some of them on a fairly intimate level, but he never really delved into their politics.
Then Loki set back down to his work at skewering the pieces he'd cut free so they could be cooked. Sigyn was being obnoxious again and it was completely uncalled for. He'd made no great insult, he'd simply been ignorant to the way things were for her. How was that a crime worthy of the short lecture he received in turn? It wasn't. “You keep talking like I should just know how things are for you. As if I'm in possession of some psychic mind-reading powers. I don't know you, Sig, so how can you legitimately expect me to know your struggles?”
Happy with his skewering, he handed them back to Sigyn and gave her a long, exasperated look. Then he stood back up to his full height, the shifting in position causing the blanket to shift down a bit from around his waist to around his hips. Loki would have adjusted it immediately if it had been his blanket. But his hands were bloodied and he really didn't want to get blood on Sigyn's blanket.
Without saying another word, his blue eyes looked away and toward the mouth of the cave that was barricaded with brush. He needed to get to some snow so he could wipe his hands as clean as possible. He'd have to move one of the bits of brush to reach the snow outside the cave. That was doable and he'd just put it back when he returned. So he moved toward the mouth of the cave, hands held out in a way to avoid touching the blanket that was riding rather low on his hips.