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The beaked lances flew amidst the edges of the sword. The weapons accustomed to measure wounds were imbrued in blood. The wolf mangled the festering wounds. Over their prey the ravens tumultuously assembled.
The dreadful inundation overwhelmed the secure. Eric gave the dead bodies to the wolves in the sea[1].
Sharp was the flying dart: then peace was lost. Bent was the bow; at which the wolf rejoiced. Broken were the lances. Sharp were the swords. The bow-strings bare away the arrows.
- ↑ An Islandic phrase for fishes of prey.
