“Probably.” Heimdall was like that: no fun whatsoever. He’d probably wait to see if they told the truth on their own, and then tattle if they didn’t. Or when they didn’t. Because honor or or duty or some other nonsense.

“I thought I’d try to sell giant poisonous porcupine. That disappeared after shredding you.” He had thought that! For like a second. Even if it would be a really fun lie to tell. “Or a giant mean squirrel dropped out of a tree and called you a lot of names, so you fought it until it ran away. You know. Rough drafts.”