Gentleness, and a presence so old it had learned to be young again, and to be filled with marvel.

A certain bemusement.

Some gentle longing that once must not have been so gentle.

Some gentle sadness that once might have been raw pain.

A wisdom that had time to turn back into that essential wisdom of the lonely child.

A sense that He may be one of the Norse Gods, but He does not fit there—or anywhere.

Mani smiles at His own melancholy.