I did the deed you deemed necessary, but I’d be bluffing if I didn’t say I would’ve died had God not kept me close. Though my sword seemed severe, I’d have been helpless, 1660 had I had only Hrunting. Hard-core as it is, it failed when I brought it to battle. God gave me grace—He sometimes saves the solitary—on a ledge glowed another blade, marvelous enough to mend the mistake I’d made trying to take on Grendel’s mother in her own lair-lake.
