Wind we, wind we the-web-of-darts, and follow the atheling after to war! Will men behold shields hewn and bloody where Gunn and Gondul have guarded the thane. Goes Hild to weave, and Hiorthrimul, Sangrith and Svipul, with swords brandished: shields will be shattered, shafts will be splintered, will the hound-of-helmets the hauberks bite. Is this web woven and wound of entrails, and heavy weighted with heads of slain are blood-bespattered spears the treadles, iron-bound the beams, the battens, arrows: let us weave with our swords this web of victory! Widely is flung, warning of slaughter, the weaver’s-beam’s-web ‘tis wet with blood is spread now, grey,the spear-thing before, the woof-of-the-warriors, which valkyries fill with the red-warp-of-Randvér’s-banesman
