The battle with Grendel's mother
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Kaila Duffy, Ms. Castagno, 9/20/16: Grendel’s mother had hastily retreated to the depths of the ominous lake, stricken with grief and consumed by hatred. Beowulf, leaving behind the others, dove gracefully after her. He sank, and the little light that had shown through the water disappearing quickly. His weight carried him down and he drifted deeper into the abyss.
As he sank, Beowulf watched the lake move around him, welcoming him in its cold embrace. He looked down and watched the thickly coated muddy bottom grow nearer to him. Suddenly she had appeared, the witch of the water. Beowulf struggled to unsheathe his sharpened sword as Grendel’s mother scrambled to sink her claws into his flesh. The monsters of the lake gathered around, beating him, assisting their dark leader.
Grendel’s mother dragged him into a battle hall, the lake ablaze around them. The sea monsters had retreated and the battle had been evened between the two foes. He swung his sword with ferocity at the witch, the blade whistling through the air, splitting the air between them. She returned the attack with rage; biting, punching, and slashing at his armor.
His helmet had failed him and in his fury he tossed aside his sword, the weapon was no match compared to his own brawn. He attacked her with a new wrath, the pair dancing in a battle of life and death. He picked her up in his fury, throwing her across the room.
She had fallen, but rose with the swiftness of the wind. Rapidly, Beowulf was pinned down as she tore at his armor in a rabid frenzy. Beowulf felt himself grow weak; his body beginning to crumble under the extreme efforts he had put forth. He looked over at the wall and found his strength again as he saw a large sword hanging there, glistening in the light.
Beowulf gathered together the last remaining fragments of his strength. He overcame the witch, and rushed over to the sword. He lifted it over his head with valor, and swung the mighty sword as Grendel’s mother rushed towards him. The blade connected with her neck, and with a swift slice she fell to the ground. The blood glittered on the floor like rubies, and Beowulf was filled with both relief and pride.
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