Sif notes the change in Anya’s bearing – the rigidity, the sharp intake of breath. It seems like more than being wary of weapons, especially for one who was so eager to train not minutes before. She notes it, but she does not comment – until it affects Anya’s training, it’s none of her business.

“True words.” For a moment, she thinks to ask Loki for a recommendation. But it is only a moment – the way habit used to call her to start setting a place at dinner for her grandfather, months after he’d died. She looks closely at the display, and pulls a small, simple knife from the wall. She holds it out.

“Let me see how you grip this.”