Loki's words stopped being random brushes of sound and started to have meaning roughly by the word 'up', which did not help her mentality in the slightest. She was up enough, more than enough, why go further up when up was so terrifyingly dangerous?

She didn't have the time or energy to protest, though, and for all her huddled clinging he was surprisingly gentle. Not that she expected him to be anything but- or that she ever expected this. It seemed safe enough to let him do the thinking and walking and she focused on breathing, eyes screwed shut once more and face pressed into his shoulder, hands fisted in his clothing. Something to anchor her, and it wasn't the brown wool that smelled of tea and sunlight that she wanted, but it was what she had.