INTRO
 
Welcome to CHAPTER 67 of the Kinsmen Die podcast, home of fantasy fiction based on Norse mythology that’s written and read by me, Matt Bishop.

In this podcast I read my first novel, Kinsmen Die, one chapter at a time. And, with each episode, when it makes sense, I provide some commentary about the source materials I’ve referenced in the text.

This week, we’re back with Frigg.

Frigg discovered that the heart of the mistletoe into which they had placed her son Baldr’s spirit had been cut out. That was why he was dying as he slept and only waking when the sun … or when he drank his own elixir, distilled from the revitalizing fruit of the great tree Yggdrasil. It also seems that these dreams have gotten worse. Odin witnessed one and used his magic to hopefully stabilize Baldr until he could get more answers.

Frigg also dragged Odin’s unconscious body out of Mimir’s glade where he’d cut his eye out.

After that, she and Odin discussed the possibility of who might be behind the attack on Baldr and thanks to a memory Odin surfaced, she and Odin believe that Loki might have done it…they just can’t figure out how, since they were careful in the keeping of that secret. There’s also the Jotunn’s attack on Hals … and the retribution Odin asked Thor to carry out.

And with all this other stuff going on, as Almother, Frigg’s also been dealing with the administration of Gladsheim. Much of that has been handled off-camera, as it were, but now that stuff takes center stage.

Let’s rejoin her now.

Chapter Sixty-Seven
Frigg
At the sound of boots approaching, Frigg wrenched her gaze away from the patches of bland sunlight scattered across the hall’s floorboards. She’d finished the morning’s business early and now had a little to time to herself—which she’d squandered by staring blankly at the floor.
“Mother?” Nanna called, her light voice floating across the intervening distance.
Worry crashed over her like a cold wave. She was on her feet saying, “What’s wrong, Nanna? Is it—” before Nanna said, “Baldr’s fine. He’s okay, I just came to check on you, Mother.”
“Oh, good.” Relief flooded in. Of course he was all right. It was nearly midday; it would’ve happened already if it were to happen again—no, when it did. Odin said he couldn’t heal Baldr, not with the heart of the mistletoe cut out.
Nanna continued. “You’ve been through so much in the past week, and yet you’re still here, dealing with everything that’s gone undone. I don’t know how you do it.”
How, indeed?
“It comes with being Almother,” Frigg said, which is what Nanna would discover for herself if Odin…no, when Odin returned with answers. “Thank you for taking over the preparations for Midwinter. That alone has helped.”
“That’s partly why I’ve come, actually,” Nanna said, her expression serious.
“The last batch of wine’s arrived. I thought you’d want to escape this”—she gestured around the hall—“and ride down into the city with me to taste it.”
“I would like nothing better, Nanna. Let me get my cloak.”

***

Just being outside the dim, stale hall lifted Frigg’s heart. The day was more beautiful than the patches of sunlight had promised. Astride her horse, she had a fine view of the light-dappled, snow-covered tops of the fields and forests surrounding Gladsheim, along with the silvery river snaking in and out of view.
Nanna rode beside her while Gná rode before them both holding the Almother’s banner, a falcon’s eye. As they clopped slowly down the curving road to the second tier, through the market and then beneath the second gate, she was in among the bustle of Gladsheim itself. People, carts, animals all moved this way and that amid the swirling smells of cooking meat, wood smoke, baking bread and the nose-wrinkling acridity of animal waste.
The crowds made way for their small group, the free men and women touching their foreheads or stopping to bow and greet her. If they’d been walking, they wouldn’t have gotten a spear’s throw before being stopped. But astride a horse, they were clearly on important business.
“So tell me, how did your meeting with the Jotunn envoy go?” she asked Nanna. “You and Baldr met with him, what, two nights ago?”
“We did, Mother,” Nanna said, her fingers toying with reins. “But with respect, I’m not the right person to ask.”
“You were there, weren’t you?”
“I, uh, well, yes, Hár Frigg.”
She touched her daughter’s shoulder. “Don’t say, ‘uh,’ Nanna Neprsdottir. You were taught better. In his own way, your husband is just like his father—let me guess what he’s doing today. He rose early and visited the healers at Aegir’s Temple to help them in aiding the many folk unlucky to be sick this time of year. And then, if there’s time before evening, he’ll check in with the city wardens or the Einherjar.”
“Or both,” Nanna said.
“Leaving you to do what?” Frigg said. She answered her own question silently: to be as alone as I am.
Nanna shrugged.
“I’ll tell you what. Today, at least, you relieved me of a full helping of boredom, but I won’t always be able to slip away.” Frigg gestured toward the crowd of people around them, moving, bustling, laughing, yelling. She turned the gesture into a wave, acknowledging all those around her. “Have you ever walked through a cloud of those little spring flies?”
Nanna gave her an odd look but nodded. “Not in a great while—but yes, as a child, I’m sure I did.”
“You’re much closer to your youth than I am, Nanna. I’ve been in Gladsheim many times longer than I spent growing up among the Jotunn. In some ways, I am more Aesir than these around us. Yggdrasil’s fruit has so extended our lives that we move through this press of people much like your younger self did that cloud of spring flies.”
She took in her daughter’s shocked expression. “It is a brutal thing to say, but how many new generations have you already seen, Nanna? Two? Three? I’ve seen six, maybe seven. And now that I say it out loud, no wonder Odin’s always leaving, always out doing something. My point, Nanna, is that we both need to find something that links us to all these folk around us. If we begin to truly see them as flies, why bother ruling?”
And would we still be ourselves if we view our fellows as annoying bugs soon to die.
The crowd began to press in around them more tightly as the gate that led to the first tier loomed ahead. Wide though it was, with all the traffic passing through, the streets near the gates were always crowded.
She glanced sideways. Her daughter’s eyes were clouded with thought. “So tell me, Nanna, what drudgery did you discuss with the Jotunn envoy?”
Nanna clucked her tongue and brought her horse closer to Frigg. “Is it safe to—”
“No one’s listening.” It was hard enough to hear Nanna’s soft voice above the noisy bustle around them. It would be still louder once they reached the trade district.
“We spoke to him right after Thor destroyed that town.”
“I’m sure the conversation went well, then,” Frigg said, wondering if Odin would be proven right, that exerting force would indeed make the Jotunn more tractable.
“I wouldn’t say—oh, I see.” Nanna’s cheeks colored. “Baldr tried to smooth it over as best he could, the more so because Thor didn’t actually kill anyone.”
“He didn’t?” Normally, he didn’t care. Why had he been careful this time?
Nanna shook her head. “Baldr had gone to Thor and asked him to spare the Jotunn in the town. Thor said he’d think about it. When Thor returned, you and the Alfather had ridden to speak with Mimir so Thor told Baldr what he’d done—and what he hadn’t. Baldr was relieved to hear that his brother had honored his request.”
That was well done. “And did Baldr send Thor back out again?”
Nanna smiled, brief and genuine. “No. Thor left shortly after he arrived. By now he and Sif are likely back in Thrudheim for Midwinter.”
Since they lived farther away, Freyr and Freyja had left right after Ithavoll. Tyr had remained, as had Heimdall.
“And so what did you discuss with the envoy after the Thor incident?”
“Baldr discussed the plan you and the Alfather proposed—sending craftsmen to build and improve their roads. Baldr expanded on it, talking about building a waystation along the route between the Breach and Jotunheim where Jotunn could come for healing. He talked of sending valkyrs from Breidablik to staff it.”
“How did Eldir respond to that?”
“He seemed amenable, but then he would, I suppose. Something for nothing. Baldr also mentioned some Jotunn settling in Asgard. The envoy was less intrigued by that idea. He was mostly concerned that those who do so might be threatened or killed—used as a cudgel to bring the Skrymir to heel.”
That was one reason behind the idea. Frigg nodded. “Aside from that, what else did he say?”
“That he’d convey the proposals to the Skrymir but that nothing was likely to happen until after Midwinter.”
“That’s fine. We’ve enough to deal with now, anyway.” She glanced sideways at Nanna. “And you? What did you add?”
“I don’t understand, Mother.”
“Everything you told me involved Baldr doing or saying something. What did you contribute?”
The horses’ hooves thudded into the silence between them. Nanna glanced at her, cheeks rosy. “I said little, Mother.”
“I thought so. Next time, you and I will talk before another such meeting. You’ve a sharp mind, Nanna, but don’t be afraid to nick your edges. All good weapons are battle-tested.”
“Weapons, Mother? I don’t under—”
Frigg touched Nanna’s arm, stopping her daughter even as she reined in. At first it seemed a trick of the sunlight, but flames descended on Nanna’s head, roaring downward in the first exuberance of a bonfire.
There was no heat, but Frigg flinched as if she had been scorched. She squeezed her eyes shut, but the blazing red light danced just beyond them. Why was it always fire?
“Mother?”
Nanna’s hand touched her shoulder. Their horses’ shoulders brushed against each other as the animals shifted, nervous, anxious to be moving again.
“I’m all right,” Frigg said, forcing her fingers to unclench. “Another vision.”
“Of me?”
Frigg opened her eyes—the flames were gone—and shook her head. She hadn’t answered questions like that since her youth, not even when Odin asked and more recently than that. She wasn’t about to start now. “War burns at the edge of things.”
From in front of them, Gná called out, “Almother, a warden approaches.” She pointed back down the way they’d come.
The crowd parted around the warden like a river around a rock. He reined in and touched his brow in salute.
“Apologies, Almother, Hár Nanna. There’s been a murder.”

***

“Fimafeng, tell me again what happened.” Frigg sat and gestured for Nanna to do the same. “From start to grisly finish.”
Despite the braziers Gná had just finished kindling, the hall was cold and dim with evening’s approach. Frigg shivered beneath her heavy falcon cloak. The halls flickering shadows reminded her of her father’s tent, flaps thrown open so the spirits could lend their guidance to all the hundreds, perhaps thousands, of judgments her father had pronounced during his long tenure as chief all the eitts over all the winters of his life before sunset. 
“Yes, Almother,” Fimafeng said, stroking his long beard far more white now than gray. “The divorce you witnessed nearly a fortnight ago ended in the woman’s murder. But not before...”
He coughed and looked down at his feet.
“You can say the word, Fimafeng. It won’t be the first time I’ve heard it.”
Or had to deal with its consequences. She glanced sideways at Nanna, who sat, composed enough, hands folded in her lap. Nanna’s eyes were wide, though, as if she were shocked to be where she was. Frigg briefly touched her daughter’s knee. She’d had Tyr to guide her through her first dozen judgments…and all the time spent watching her father do the same. Nanna had Frigg.
Fimafeng continued. “Apologies, Almother. It seems the woman, Bera, was raped before being strangled.”
“And this is known how?”
“By the sister’s word and her husband’s. Said she heard screaming; her house is near to her sister’s. Said she went running, with her husband, to her sister’s house. They flung the door open and found the former husband, Harald, on top of his former wife, Bera. The sister’s husband pulled him off while she, Yelena, ran for the wardens, screaming ‘Murder!’ the whole way.”
“And how did Yelena’s husband come to be stabbed?” Nanna asked.
“After he pulled Harald off Bera, the husband claims that he fought with Harald,” Fimafeng said. “The husband, Klakki, was carried to Jarl Baldr’s longhouse—the one he uses for the care of the hurt and sick, I mean. I don’t know how badly the husband’s wounded.”
“Claims?” she asked.
“Yes, Almother. The wardens told me that none witnessed the gruesome events inside the longhouse except Harald, Yelena, and her husband.”
And the dead wife, of course. Were Odin here, he could have coaxed the words from Bera’s corpse. But of course he wasn’t here.
Frigg gestured for Gná to approach. “Take a warden and visit my son’s hall. See if the sister’s husband lives. If not, Karl Harald may have two lives to answer for.”
“Yes, Almother,” Gná said, nodding.
“Tell me what the wardens said they saw when they arrived, please.”
“Both are here, Almother. They could—”
Frigg raised her hand, smiling. “I know, Fimafeng, and I’ll hear them shortly. Right now, I want to hear it all from you. Your memory has always been flawless.”
The old thrall bowed slightly, thanking her. “Of course, Almother. They told me they found the husband, Harald, in the corner, bruised and bleeding, dazed. His former wife, Bera, was dead on the floor, dress up around her waist, neck badly bruised.”
“Did they seem drunk to you? Or like they had been drinking? The wardens, I mean.”
Frigg caught Nanna’s surprise and shrugged. Drunken wardens were common enough.
Fimafeng shook his head. “No, Almother. They’d just started their watch.”
Which meant their first patrol through the area had been done while sober, or mostly so. Had it been later, the sister might not have come across them at all.
“Very well, Fimafeng. Is there anything else we need to know before the accused is presented?”
“No, Almother. Shall I fetch them?”
Frigg nodded and the thrall stepped away, boots hardly making a noise as he went.
In a low voice, Nanna asked, “We, Mother?”
The far door creaked open as Fimafeng hauled it open.
“I told you what was required, Nanna.”
“Yes, but in front of them all?”
She turned toward her son’s wife. “We rule, Nanna. We make the decisions when the karls and even the jarls cannot. Were this the murder of a thrall, we wouldn’t have been summoned. Nor would the rape and murder of one karl by another necessarily require my involvement. But I’m sure that since I was involved in their divorce, Fimafeng thought it important I be party to this foul outcome. When you and Baldr come to rule, you’ll need a steward like Fimafeng.”
At the clink of chains and scuff of boots, Frigg glanced down the hall. Then she looked back at Nanna, smiled, and set her hand on her shoulder. “For now, just pay attention. I won’t throw you to the wolves just yet.”
The younger woman gave a quick smile of thanks.
Harald stumbled through the open center of the hall, his hands bound before him. Short though the walk was, it felt as if it took a month for him to approach and fall to his knees. If anything, Harald looked even more hard-ridden than he had during his divorce. His big shoulders were slumped, and his weather-beaten face had been further beaten by fists. Purpling bruises and crusty blood covered half his face.
The wardens behind him, however, made their prisoner look small. They were both older men, judging by their gray-shot beards, with hard faces made more severe still by the dim light and strong shadows.
The murdered woman’s family crept up in the wake of their daughter’s killer. The parents looked like empty, hollow trees that somehow still stood. Their second daughter had a black glint in her narrowed eyes, made somehow more wicked by the pregnant rounding of her belly. Fimafeng dragged a bench in behind her; she sank slowly down onto it but gave no sign of thanks. None of three were much changed from when Frigg had seen them last.
When all parties stood before the platform, Frigg addressed the parents and the sister. “My deepest sympathies for your loss—”
“It wasn’t me, Almother, I swear,” cried Harald.
One of the wardens struck him a sharp blow on the side of the head, knocking him sideways.
Frigg ignored it and continued. “My deepest sympathies for your loss. Who speaks for your departed daughter?”
“I do,” the pregnant woman said. She was slight of frame and favored her mother’s washed-out look, but with more backbone. And that black glint in her eye. “I’m her sister, Yelena. It was my husband this one stabbed.”
Harald was struggling back up, shackled hands rubbing his head. “And you, who speaks for you?”
The man stared down at the shadows pooling on the floor. “No one but myself.”
“What do the lots say, Fimafeng? Who speaks first?”
The old thrall closed his eyes and tossed a handful of wooden lots before the platform. When they rattled to a stop, he knelt and examined them with great care. “This one here,” he said, gesturing at the man.
“Go ahead, Karl Harald,” Frigg said, as Fimafeng gathered up the sticks.
Harald’s lower lip was split and still bleeding, and beneath the beating he’d taken, he had the unfocused look of a man recovering from too much drink. She’d seen the signs often enough to know. “I didn’t do it, Almother, I swear that—”
She raised her hand, and Harald fell silent. “Tell us what happened—tell true, mind you—and it’ll go easier for you.”
He swallowed hard, looked down at the floor and then back up at her, eyes intense and pleading. “I was home early, two nights early, from driving a herd south. Weather was fine so we made good time. Everyone wanted to be back, I think, you know, for Midwinter. Anyway, I came in through the south gate before evening. Met up with those few friends who’d stuck with me after the divorce and started drinking—had earned more silver for such a quick run, so I had a little to spare. I made my payment to Gladsheim first, Almother. I spent what was left on myself.”
Frigg raised her hand again. “Fimafeng, is that true? Did the karl pay on his debt?”
Fimafeng nodded once. “Yes, Almother.”
“Good. Continue.” Truth on one point might point toward truth in others.
“Yes, Almother. My friends had their families to get back to, so we settled up, and I headed home. Guess I was drunker than I thought, cause my feet took me to my old house—the one I’d shared with her. The one I had to give up. Not that I disagreed with your judgment, Almother. I realized my mistake when I set eyes on it, but the door was open. I could see movement inside—shadows, really. It was late—moon high—but no one was around. So I wondered if there was maybe someone inside, trying to steal what she had—maybe knowing of the judgment and the silver she got.
“So I run forward, throw the door open, and see this one’s husband on top of my wife—former wife, I mean.” He gestured at Yelena with his chin but kept his eyes down.
Frigg almost expected Yelena to say something, but she didn’t. She sat silently, arms folded across her belly, still with that murderous gleam in her eyes. There was also something satisfied about her expression, like someone sitting back after a good meal.
She glanced at Fimafeng, who shrugged slightly, and then the wardens, checking their expressions. They were totally impassive.
To Harald, she said, “Go on.”
A fierce note entered the man’s beaten voice. “So I went at him. Tried to get him off her. She was crying—I remember that—but the rest is blurry. He threw me off, and I must’ve hit my head. I wasn’t steady on my feet; like I said, drank too much. I remember fighting, though. I had my knife at my side. It’s not there now, so maybe I did stab him.”
She looked at the wardens again. “How did you find him?”
The warden on the left spoke, his voice a hoarse rumble. “In the corner of his house, unconscious. Breeches undone. The knife Jarl Baldr took out of the husband’s side fits this one’s sheath.”
“I see,” she said. “Do you have anything else to say, Karl Harald?”
The man shook his head. “Only that I didn’t do it. I wouldn’t have. I’d done wrong by her, I know that. Your judgment hit me hard, Almother, and I didn’t think about much else on this last drive.” He clasped his hands in their bindings. “I didn’t do it, Almother. By the Departed Mother, I didn’t.”
She lifted a hand. “All right, Karl Harald. And you, Karl Yelena, what say you?”
The woman’s venomous gaze met hers for just a moment before she dipped her head to her chest, as if collecting her thoughts. When her eyes came back, they were cool and restrained. Her lip curled, and she gestured with her chin at Harald.
“Only that my husband and I saw this pig murdering my sister. We saw it.”
Frigg nodded. “All right, Karl Yelena. How did you happen upon the—”
“We heard the screams.” Yelena’s voice was icy like a winter’s night. “So we rushed over—not that I move so quick these days, heavy as I am.”
Frigg looked at the wardens. “Did anyone else hear the screams?”
The first one spoke again. “Not that we know, Almother. I asked around while I waited for the other wardens to arrive, but no one said.”
Yelena spoke. “My house is right next to my sister’s. My parents live several houses from me. It was late, so maybe everyone was already asleep.”
“But not you?”
Yelena shook her head and held her belly. “I’m close to my time. Sleeping’s hard.”
“I remember how that was,” Frigg said with a smile that had no effect on Yelena’s chilliness. “So tell me what happened when you and your husband got to your sister’s house.”
“Well, I had a club in my hand, just in case, you know. And when we got there, I froze up. I must’ve screamed myself. This one here”—she pointed at Harald—“was on top of my sister, hands wrapped around her neck, yelling at her. I could tell she was already dead by the way her arms flopped around as he shook her.”
She broke off and hid her face in her hands. Her parents remained silent, white-haired and stooped, seemingly numb to what was happening.
Harald remained on his knees, staring down at the shadows.
Yelena coughed, looked up, wiped her face with her fingers. There was a note of pride in her voice. “My husband didn’t hesitate, though. He ran right in and pulled this one off her. They started fighting. I dropped the club and ran out, best I could, screaming for the wardens. I found them a few streets over. I told them where to go, and they ran back. I couldn’t keep up, so I just got there when I could.”
“Thank you, Yelena,” Frigg said.
She looked at the pair of wardens before her. “Now, wardens, what did you see when you first entered the house?”
The two men exchanged a glance. The one on the right shrugged, so the one who’d spoken earlier spoke again. “As we said, Almother. This one here was in the corner dazed, breeches undone. Karl Yelena’s husband was on the floor, knife in his side, moaning, blood all over the place. We found the club, too, hair and blood on it. The wife’s dress was hiked up, but she’d passed on by the time we got there.”
“I see. Anything else?”
The second warden spoke up. “Just that the house looked like someone had gone through it—jars on the floor, chairs overturned, chests thrown open.”
“From the fight, maybe?” Frigg asked.
“Could be, Almother. But it looked odd to me.”
Yelena spoke, her voice angry. “It was probably him looking for the silver. Figured he’d steal it and pay back his debt with it. Make himself even richer.”
Frigg ignored the outburst. “Wardens, did you ask at the way house where he was drinking? Find out if his story is true?”
“I did, Almother,” the second one said. “The owner said he saw him leave not long before he closed up for the night.”
“I see.”
She was about to say more when Gná slipped into the pool of light cast by the braziers. She beckoned her forward. “A moment, please, while I hear this message.”
Gná stepped up on the platform and whispered in her ear, “Jarl Baldr says that the wounded husband will fully recover. The wound was bad, likely would have killed him, but he used some of his elixir.”
“Is the husband awake now?” she whispered back.
“Yes.”
“And how did he seem to you?”
“More like a frightened deer than angry, as I’d expect a man who’d just been stabbed would be,” Gná said.
Now that was an interesting observation. Why fear? Gná had a gift for seeing right through a person’s bluster to what they were really thinking. She glanced around the room, her gaze passing over what seemed like a thoughtful look in Yelena’s eyes. None of this smelled quite right to her. Perhaps a little deception was needed.
She kept her voice low. “Did my son say we could speak to the husband tonight?”
“He said it would be better to wait until morning but that tonight would be all right, were it necessary.”
She nodded and gave her instructions, voice still low. “All right, Gná, thank you. When I dismiss everyone, bring one of these wardens back to Baldr’s house. Make sure the husband sees the warden. Then go to the wardens’ barracks and tell the kjolr there what I’ve done. He is to send another pair of wardens with you. Make sure it happens, Gná, all right?”
“Yes, Almother,” Gná said.
“Once you have, find Gulfinn. Tell him to look for Heimdall and then report to me here in the morning. Once you’ve done that, come find me at Baldr’s sick house. And keep those wardens with you, too.”
With a quick nod, Gná left.
Frigg beckoned for Ráta who’d been standing by one of the columns. “You’ll come with me to Baldr’s. Then I want you to also look for Heimdall. When you cross paths with Gulfinn, which I’m sure you will, stay with him and report back to me here in the morning.”
“Almother, I really think th—”
“I know, but I’ll be fine. It’s a short walk, and I’ll have the wardens with me.”
Ráta set her jaw and was about to protest further, but Frigg shook her head. “I need Heimdall, Ráta. Please find him for me.”
The baresark hesitated a moment more, then nodded, bowed, and left.
Frigg cleared her throat and addressed everyone present. “I have good news from Jarl Baldr. Your husband should recover, Karl Yelena, but he says the next hours are particularly critical. Your husband is sleeping and has been drugged so that he will remain asleep through evening tomorrow. I’ve asked my servant Gná to make sure you’re informed the moment Jarl Baldr says you can see him.”
“Thank you, Almother,” Yelena said, a wariness in her eyes. “My parents and I are so very grateful both to you and your son for taking personal interest in this. Please convey my thanks to Jarl Baldr, if you see him before I do.”
“I will indeed,” Frigg said, inclining her head.

OUTRO
Well, folks, that was CHAPTER 67 of Kinsmen Die. I hope you enjoyed it.

Frigg and Nanna discussed some of the events that had occurred so far — and then Frigg got called back to the hall to deal with a murder investigation, or at least the start of one.

Next week we’re back with Odin.

Until then, if you have the time and inclination, please rate and/or review the podcast — that helps boost the show’s visibility. As does sharing it.
  
As always, I’m going to read from both the Bellows and Larrington translations of the Havamal, the sayings of the High One, Odin himself.

Bellows, Verse 67
To their homes men would bid me hither and yon,
If at meal-time I needed no meat,
Or would hang two hams in my true friend's house,
Where only one I had eaten.

Larrington, Verse 67
Here and there I might be invited home
when I had no need of food that mealtime;
or two hams would be hanging in a trusty friend’s house when I’d already eaten one.

So this verse doesn’t make much sense. Some of the commentaries I’ve read suggest that it refers to the worship of Odin and the hanging hams are a sacrifice. In some source materials, those hanging people is a way to sacrifice people to Odin.

Without getting bogged down in all the commentary — what follows is Kodratoff’s looser, more interpretative translation that incorporates the theme of worshiping Odin. Note that the word “image” refers to a carved idol representing Odin.

Here and there, my image promises my presence. 
Maybe I am offered no sacrifice, or he offers two victims, my faithful friend,
while I already accepted one from him.


Thanks for listening.