Have you not been blessed with followers in this time, princeling
Child of the giants
Oh lord or tricks and treason
Sly-One.
Wily one, clever one,
Does no one appreciate
The joy of shearing hear
Only to weave a greater strand of gold
From breath and soul
Shapeshifter,
Father of Hel, of wolves, of serpents
Mother of many-legged horses
So unloved in your potency
And still bound by your children
Their entrails
your ropes and chains
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