I am not the only monster on these moors. I met an old woman as wild as the wind Striding in white out of… — John Gardner
I am not the only monster on these moors.
I met an old woman as wild as the wind
Striding in white out of midnight's den.
Her cloak was in rags, and her flesh, it was lean,
And her eyes, her murdered eyes...
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"Poor Grendel's had an accident," I whisper. ''"So may you all."
Grendel, Grendel! You make the world by whispers, second by second. Are you blind to that? Whether you make it a grave or garden of roses is not the point. Feel the wall: is it not hard? He smashes me against it. Hard, yes! Observe the hardness, write it down in careful runes. Now, sing of walls! Sing!
Terrible, he whispers. Terrible. He laughs and lets out fire.
