I always knew I was bound for greatness. Even as a wee pup, I dreamt of the day I would rush in and fight the good fight, save the community, sink my teeth into a threatening offender. I just needed to grow up. That couldn‘t happen fast enough.
Luckily, I had friends. The Æsir would come pet my coat and throw me treats, watching me run after them into the woods. And I did love them all, but one was special.
Tyr would come back from ‘the front,‘ bloodied sword in hand. He‘d clean it in the One Sea, scrubbing it with sand, averting the eyes of the others. If someone spoke to him, he‘d grunt, thrusting his chin upward in a wordless response, then look away. I‘d like to say they learned not to do this, but they didn‘t They kept up their merry little greets as he recovered from bitter carnage, until the end of days. At first, I thought they didn‘t understand that he wanted to be alone. Now, I think they didn‘t want to admit to themselves the price they forced him to pay as he protected the community.
No matter what the reason, I was the only one Tyr wanted to play with. He‘d , pin me to the dusty earth while I yelped and squirmed, eventually wriggling myself free. Forgoing all words, we had a safe gesture. When I grew tired, or frightened, or cranky, I would nip him on his thick, muscular arm, and the games would stop. We would go, together, to dinner.
As I become stronger, faster, smarter, so did our play. It was harder and harder for Tyr to pin me. If he grasped me, I could shake him off. I was as often hunter as hunted.
One day, I made my way, silently through thick woods, and crouched down, awaiting his return. Evening came, and the scent of blood wafted through the forest. I turned my nose in its direction, slowly inhaling the thick, rich scent. When it got close, I held my breath. His boot came down a tail‘s width from my nose and I pounced, leaping up, paws on his shoulders, forcing him down, as he had forced me down. There was a flash and his sword sliced into my shoulder. So I nipped his arm, ending the game, tasting the blood that gushed from the wound I hadn‘t intended to inflect. I whimpered, in both pain and sorrow. He sobbed, ripping off his shirt, and binding, first his wound, then my own.
When the danger had passed, he swore that, from that day on, he would lie down his sword before me as soon as he returned, and asked me to swear, in return, that I would wait until his sword was before me, and never again put my teeth into his flesh. I nodded my agreement.
We forgave each other, reached a new peace. I didn‘t notice, right away, that the others no longer came to pet my coat and give me treats. I had Tyr. He would return each evening, and place his newly washed sword at my feet, and we would play. I would push him to the ground, where he would struggle to wriggle away. And when he tired of the game, he would bite my foreleg.
As I grew stronger, more masterful, the others faded into the background, giving Tyr and I a wider and wider area in which to play in the evenings.
Until one day. The Æsir came to me and wanted to play a game. I was delighted; it had been so long! They pulled out a thick rope and went to bind me with it. I liked it. I wondered, too, how hard it would be to snap it. Not hard at all, it turned out. I looked around for Tyr, wanting to share my victory. He was not among them.
The next day, they came back, this time with a thick chain. I looked around for Tyr, but, again, he was not there. I wondered about it, but my attention swiftly moved to the game. They tied me firmly to a tree and stepped back. I flexed, links snapped, and I danced around the tree, attributing their awkward laughter to my victory.
Then things went back to normal. Tyr came by each evening, just like before. He would wash his sword and place it before me, then we would wrestle. Sometimes he took a little long to let go. Sometimes I would see a tear in the corner of his eye.
Eventually the Æsir returned… with Tyr. He looked deep into my eyes. It was if he was a deer pleading with me not to devour it. I know now that I was the deer. He laid down his clean sword before me, as the Æsir reached into their bag for another round of their chain game. But what they pulled out was not a chain. It was whisper-thin and reeked of magic. I have to admit I was intrigued.
‘No,‘ I said. ‘Don‘t put that on me.‘ I looked toward Tyr; he looked away.
‘It‘s no problem,‘ they lied, ‚‘it‘s just a little wisp of a thing, nowhere near as hard to break as that chain!‘ And I wondered. I knew they were lying, but I also wanted to know which was stronger. My body or their magic.
‘Then why do you want to put it on me?‘ I asked. No one answered.
‘We promise we‘ll untie you if you can‘t break it,‘ they finally suggested. I was tempted. But I‘m not stupid.
‘One of you will have to put your arm in my mouth,‘ I finally responded, ‘as insurance. I‘ll let go of it when you untie me,‘ I said.
Each of them looked questioningly toward the others, but down when the others looked toward them. I sighed. Then Tyr stepped up.
‘Take my arm,‘ he said. And with that, he walked over to his sword, picked it up, and sheathed it, before placing his arm in my mouth and looking soberly, lovingly, into my eyes, as they bound me.
When they were done, I tried the rope. And tried it again. And again. I tried for what seemed like a million times, wriggling, struggling, chanting, pulling forward what little magic I believed I might have in my depths. Nothing worked. I was trapped.
‘Take my arm,‘ he near-whispered, quietly, gently, sweetly. I didn‘t know why it was important to him, but in that moment I knew it was. So I bit down hard, severing his arm from his shoulder, his talents from his possibility, his life from his identity.
They moved me to the outskirts, where I see him sometimes. We both look away. He no longer returns in the evenings, as he no longer has anywhere to go during the day. Someday, I sometimes think, he will return and lay his sword before me, but then I remember he can’t; he has no arm.
So, I turn my attention to awaiting, envisioning, planning, the greatness I‘ve been bound for.