If grendel wins, it will be a gruesome day; he will glut himself on the geats in the war-hall, swoop without fear on that flower of manhood as on others before. then my face won’t be there to be covered in death: he will carry me away as he goes to ground, gorged and bloodied; he will run gloating with my raw corpse and feed on it alone, in a cruel frenzy, fouling his moor-nest.