Then Beowulf dropped his head to pillow, and beside him rested his command of brave men, 690 warriors of sea and sleep. They were ready to see life’s end, and didn’t expect to lay eyes on their heartland again, not familiar soil, not their parents, not their wives. They knew the story of the slaughterer, the dozen years Danes had been driven from their home-hall. The Almighty, though, had other plans, a tapestry of terror threaded with triumph, the Weather-Geats the victors. They’d rise with their leader, crush the challenger, and cruise through creation kinsmen to a
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