Because I am a coward, I whisper minnesong into the willow's branches, and hope the winds will carry that song to your sleeping ears. Because I am a coward who cannot bear to see you with another man, and your belly full of child, I cast these forlorn leaves etched with runes of blood onto the waters, and hope they may sail drifting down to you, in dreams where the heart always remembers, even if the mask tired of tears makes the mind forget. Is it cowardice? I am not sure. A man must know his limitations. A foolhardy man runs rash into danger, but giants have no mercy. They will rip your arms off and spit your head out reeling upon the ground without a second thought. Some sights hold terrible power, and to see you given to someone else, much as I ought rejoice, in that deep love I have for you, I fear I might be broken. And I have spent this last year duct-taping and gluing the broken bones back together, in hopes that wrapped in skin, Mjollnir waved over might bring them back to life. But I do not hold Mjollnir, love. That is a power beyond me. So my love must remain hidden, and sent out onto night aethers like spells wishing well, visiting you with forbidden kisses in dreams that bring blessings.