At first, my love for Odin was simple. It felt like a deep calm comfortable pond in the middle of a forest, protected from the ravages of wind by tall trees surrounding it. He didn’t do much, but I didn’t expect him to. We had an understanding, well I did; he was hungry so I’d feed him, unhappy I’d hold him, done shitting I’d clean up. He grew older and my love for him changed, the trees of the forest got shorter and the occasional breeze would set the pond to rippling, the trees became sparse and the pond became choppier, before I knew it the pond had become a brook and I stood at it’s seep.