He is like a gift to my people, they will tear him if he comes with a troop.
Unlike it is to us
Wulf is on an island, I on another.
Fast is that island, wrapped by fens. There are slaughter-greedy men on that island, they will tear him if he comes with a troop.
Unlike it is to us.
I have long endured the footsteps of Wulf being far away. When it was rainy weather, and I sat, weeping, then that warrior laid his arms about me. It was a joy to me, but to me also hateful.
Wulf, my Wulf, my hopes of you have made me sickened, your seldom coming, my sorrowing mind, not at all a lack of food.
Do you hear, Eadwacer? Wulf will bear our miserable hwelp to the woods.
A man may easily slit apart that which was never truly together:
Our song together.
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