at the otherone, Hugin. Hugin’s aura was a bit more intense—the current thoughts of Odin would of course be more active than his memories. I didn’t think Hugin represented the totality of Odin’s thoughts, but it had to be a relatively huge chunk of his consciousness, or else it wouldn’t have put Odin in a coma for years when I’d speared the first Hugin back in Asgard. I had no idea how Odin thought of him, but from a Druidic perspective, Hugin was a headspace in Odin’s mind—with wings. And in a similar sense Munin was a headspace as well. Both ravens had to report back to Odin periodically to recharge and reunite all the fragments of his consciousness, but it wasn’t as if he sat with all the life of a mannequin while they were gone. Though they did embody the mind of Odin, they weren’t the full sum of it.
I connected with the bird’s bright threads of consciousness, and the aged whiskey voice of the Gray Wanderer filled my head with Old Norse.
That’s very kind. But how did you hear I was in trouble?
The Morrigan is dead
.
She foresaw this five or six years ago?
I let that eulogy pass unremarked.
Odin, how did you find me? I’m shielded from divination
.
She’s not mine. She belongs to herself
.
You’ve been watching?
he said, referring to the silver throne from which he could observe events in most of the nine realms.
What other gods?
Odin continued as if I hadn’t spoken.
Who can dictate this to the Olympians?
Thinking back to a particularly vivid dream I had twelve years ago in Flagstaff, I asked,
Might one of those gods be Ganesha?
Odin ignored me again.
So we are entertainment for the gods? We run for your sport?
What others?
So we’re not only entertainment, we’re a method by which someone gets to pursue a personal grudge?
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