--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 non 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 attack aircraft raised his shield against the dreadful stranger. Then the spiral subject sought battle. The war top executive drew his sword, an antiquated 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 protected life and body for a shorter time than the prince had hoped. That was the first daytime he was not granted glory in battle. The ennoble of the Geats raised his arm, struck the horrible thing with his ancestral sword, only when 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 enjoyable trip: that famous king, Beowulf, would have to leave this earth, would have, against his will, to move elsewh! ere. (So moldiness every man give up these transitory days.) It wasnt farsighted 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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