The problem was not the grief – the great misdeed was to try to flee from the grief. Only a sacrifice can mend the heart. So here it is, fierce lord. Strip me to my skeleton. Take my bones and grind them to a fine powder. Let nothing remain save the heartbroken love which I hardly noticed anyway when I lived here, in my rusty armor. Take it to the mountain. Let it quicken the heart which died of cold, a heart worthier than mine.