My brother, my sweet Muninn. He is wasting away. There is very little left of him. He rejects food almost entirely. A bowl of oatmeal here, and apple there. The smell of acetone permeating the air, as his body goes into ketosis. His skin, transparent and thin. Bones, curving and bending.
This is no longer my brother, my protector, my true father. Huginn will lose Muninn, and the magic will be stolen from the surviving raven. I will awaken the wrath from all, because I could not save him. But before they get to me, I will destroy myself. What value could life have without my sweet brother. There, in him, is all meaning. There, inside of his struggling heart, are all the answers.
He no longer speaks with me. He does not possess the strength to form words; yet, somehow he manages to obsessively exercise every day. Oftentimes, he will collapse as a result of physical exertion, and I have no choice but to let him perish. No one can do a thing, and he refuses all help. My Muninn hasn’t looked at my wings to see that they are weak. I have always hung on to his.