--Beowulf Fights the Dragon-- He saw by the cave, he who had many virtues, he who had survived many times the battle flashes when parade rush together, a stream running from the stone arch-- a stream of fire. He could not enter for the dragons flame. Beowulf was angry, the master key of the Geats, he who stormed in battle. He yelled into the cave. The hoard-keeper perceived a mans voice and didnt proposal to ask for friendship. Flames shot out from among the stones, hot battle-sweat. The give dinned. The whiz raised his shield against the dreadful stranger. Then the spiral intimacy sought battle. The war top executive drew his sword, an antique heirloom with edges unblunt. Each of them intended horror to the other. Stouthearted stood that war-prince with his shield upraised, waited in his war-gear. The dragon coiled together, went forth burning, gliding toward his fate. His shield protect life and body for a shorter time than the prince had hoped. That was the first solar day he was not granted glory in battle. The noble of the Geats raised his arm, struck the horrible thing with his ancestral sword, notwithstanding the edge gave way: that glorious sword bit slight on the bone than the war-king needed. After that stroke the cave-guardian was in a savage mood.
He threw death-fire-- widely sprayed battle flashes. The gold-friend of the Geats wasnt exaggerate of victory. His war-sword had failed, not bitten home as it should suffer, that iron which had always been trustworthy. This wasnt a winning trip: that famous king, Beowulf, would have to leave this earth, would have, against his will, to move elsewhere. (So es! sential every man give up these transitory days.) It wasnt farseeing before the terrible ones met again-- The hoard-keeper took heart, heaved his fire anew. If you want to get a broad(a) essay, order it on our website:
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