Envious green, soft blades of grass
Sway gently as a swift soft breeze passes quietly by. A harsh fast step from a blood stained boot -- buckles waving free-- crushes the soft blades of grass. A Silver blade gleams as the light from the heavens breaches the clouds. He is watching. A tall man stands, his hair ragged in the mountain wind, he wears a chainmail vest, with straps of leather crossing the vitals, completely blood-stained. on his hip he carries a leather sheath a trusty sword occupying. This man, he is on a hunt. Not a man hunt, oh no. No one would call this creature a man. Swiftly, the man climbs pushing off jagged rocks which threaten to cut him at the slightest slip. But Grendel is ready, for he must be if he is to survive. Quickly this beast--almost naked covered in but a single small jutted piece of animal skin, decides to take hold of--with his filthy large calloused hands-- a fair sized rock, with no remarkable indentations or scratches, the beast cocks his head back, and from his throat comes the sound of a laugh that would echo throughout history, for today, is the day the mighty Beowulf dies.
-- thought it would be nice to do an ode to the original poem. quite the twist with Beowulf dying, was trying to go for being extremely detailed, but i got lazy.--
