Thoughts, plans, schemes, grand designs for the roles of his people. Odin has them all though he lacks the will to see them through. His fabled foresight has dimmed, disappeared altogether if truth was in his nature, and the barriers that existed between what was and what is blur and shift in an ever changing mosaic in his mind's eye. He has nothing more to give and cannot bring himself to say it out loud.
Instead he sits. A blanket over his lap, the wolves at his feet and the ravens perched on the porch bannister. The cold burrows into his joints, sinks in deep and makes the movements of his hands slow. He's an old man no matter how young the face he wears and his arthritis has a thousand year old feel to it.
The animals don't want to be here with him. They don't care for his reasons for sitting and watching the leaves fall from the big oak in the back yard. They'd rather be with the Watchman. The White God who has changed from keeper to almost-master would-be-master if the All-Father would give in and speak the truths that have already been realized.
We're going to need a longer rope.
Instead he sits. A blanket over his lap, the wolves at his feet and the ravens perched on the porch bannister. The cold burrows into his joints, sinks in deep and makes the movements of his hands slow. He's an old man no matter how young the face he wears and his arthritis has a thousand year old feel to it.
The animals don't want to be here with him. They don't care for his reasons for sitting and watching the leaves fall from the big oak in the back yard. They'd rather be with the Watchman. The White God who has changed from keeper to almost-master would-be-master if the All-Father would give in and speak the truths that have already been realized.
We're going to need a longer rope.