Loki didn’t have a lot of people who willingly listened to him, who offered him advice or do something that encouraged him to keep going and not to give up on himself. Ikol was one of the few that had still been there, and while the magpie was harboring the soul of his past self and still carrying that condescending, cold disposition, the bird offered good council.
So after all that Ikol had done for him, why couldn’t Loki save his poor friend from death?
The wounds had been too much. Too bad. Too deep. There was too much blood. While Loki had done his best to save the bird, it seemed the pain and shock was too much for the poor animal who, in the middle of the night, shuffled from his makeshift nest on wobbly, thin gray legs since he couldn’t move his wings and huddled up close to the sleeping boy’s chest.
The godling wailed and cradled the small bird close when he awoke to find Ikol not breathing, heartbeat nonexistant and little body cold and limp. Tears leaked from his green eyes, dribbling down his cheeks to leave bright red marks on his skin. Why did he deserve to live, while Ikol deserved to die? Twice!
