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He moved quickly through the cloudy night, Up from his swampland, sliding silently toward that gold-shining hall...
He strode quickly across the inlaid floor, snarling and fierce: his eyes gleamed in the darkness, burned with a gruesome light. Then he stopped, seeing the hall crowded with sleeping warriors...
And Grendel's great teeth come together, snapping life shut. Then he stepped to another still body, clutched Beowulf with his claws...
That shepherd of evil, guardian of crime, knew at once that nowhere on earth had he met a man whose hands were harder...he tried to withdraw.
The monster's hatred rose higher, but his power had gone. He twisted in pain, and the bleeding sinews deep in his shoulder snapped, muscle and bone split and broke... The battle was over and Beowulf had been granted new glory.
Grendel escaped, but wounded as he was could flee to his den...
Only to die, to wait for the end of all his days. And after that bloody combat the Danes laughed with delight.
And then, in the morning, crowds surrounded Herot, warriors coming to that hall from faraway lands...
Then old and young rejoiced.
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