Everyone was silent for a spell, taking the time to observe the sleeping father and child on the bed. It was as if the horror from moments before never even happened. Already, Loki's pale, sickly coloring was changing. Gwyneira, as if knowing her father was who she was resting with, curled onto her side. Her pudgy, little baby hand grasped at his tunic and held tight. She was holding on with clearly no intention of being pulled away. As the minutes ticked by, Loki stirred, but only so that he could move one hand to rest against his daughter's back, holding her near.